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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332839">a good man is hard to find</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigami/pseuds/jasondont'>jasondont (minigami)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a good man is hard to find [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Enemies to Allies To Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jedi Order Treated With Nuance, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Not A Fix-It, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Addiction, Slow Burn, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:34:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>112,250</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29332839</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/minigami/pseuds/jasondont</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi and his padawan Anakin Skywalker travel to the mining colony of Tchuta-1, a small moon in a system in the middle of nowhere. Their mission is to mediate a conflict between the owners of the rhydonium mines and its workers: something easy and on the safe side of boring, the perfect mission for teams like theirs.<br/>However, once they get there, their shuttle is shot down, and they find themselves caught in a vicious gang war... and hunted by the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy, the Mandalorian Jango Fett.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Boba Fett &amp; Jango Fett, Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi &amp; Anakin Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>a good man is hard to find [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2216832</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>504</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Bounty Hunter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>finally!!! i started this fic back in october. at first i thought it'd be around 30k; clearly, i was really, really wrong: the total word count is around 119k.</p><p> i wouldn't have been able to finish this monster of a fic without a lot of help. i owe a lot to the sunflare server, the place where this fic was born, and to satan and rey, who read the very first draft of this back in November or so; to the maulrex circus, who's been dealing with me complaining non-stop about this story for literal months (i'm so fucking glad i decided to join the server); to iratxe, who offered to read this while i was still writing it even though she didn't actually ship kenfetti at all (tía!!!!! muchísimas gracias otra vez); and to rey again, who has ended up beta'ing this thing. thank you all, you've made the past few months bearable and i wouldn't have been able to finish this without you. </p><p>anyway: this thing's done. it's finished, it's beta'ed and edited and so on and so forth. my plan is to post two chapters per week, monday and thursday; the last one is an epilogue, and i will post that one the same day as chapter 11. </p><p>aaand that's about it. i've tried to tag everything I could think of, but if i've missed something please tell me, and i will elaborate if i think i need to in the notes of each chapter.  general warnings for violence, mentions of drug and alcohol use, and references to dehumanization and child abuse (at this point in time, the clones are around ten or so, and i'm not very interested in excusing jango's role in their enslavement; i'm sorry, but this is not that kind of fic). </p><p>i've had a blast writing this, even if at times i wanted to jump through my window; i hope you like it, too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The holster sits uncomfortable on his hip. Obi-Wan tugs it down and to the left, and then walks down the short hallway once again.</p><p>That’s better.</p><p>“You still look like you, master,” Anakin says, however. He’s sitting on the floor, next to the open hatch to the engine room. He’s tired, but he looks at Obi-Wan with sharp eyes, his gaze focusing first on his feet, then on his hands, on his back.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan asks, exasperated. Anakin snorts: he finds Obi-Wan’s Mid Rim accent hilarious, even if it’s actually pretty good.</p><p>He tries not to take it too personally and only half-succeeds.</p><p> </p><p>The teenager hums. He doesn’t really look like a Jedi apprentice, despite his padawan braid and the sand-colored tunic. He’s barefooted, he’s got engine grease on his face and on his clothes, and there is a truly horrendous pimple on his right cheek.</p><p>“I think it’s the way you stand, master,” he finally says. “Normal people slouch. You don’t.”</p><p>Obi-Wan manages to not give in to the temptation of rolling his eyes. Anakin feels what he thinks about ‘normal people’ nonetheless, and he grins, brilliant and crooked.</p><p>“You should start getting used to not calling me master, or Obi-Wan. Just in case,” he answers. It’s hard, fighting against the habits of a lifetime, but he manages to relax his back, his shoulders. He walks down the hallway once again.</p><p>“Well, it’s not as if I’m going with you, <em>Ben</em>,” Anakin replies sharply.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. There they go again.</p><p>Anakin has been declaring his opinion about their plan of action—find out why the hell they were shot down when they hailed the spaceport authority; do it quietly and discreetly, without attracting undue attention; meanwhile, fix the ship and try to contact the Temple—loudly and clearly for the last few hours. And the thing is, Obi-Wan isn’t even sure his padawan actually disagrees with him.</p><p>For the past few months, he’s been systematically doing and saying the opposite of everything Obi-Wan says. Not all the time, but often enough and with enough gusto that it’s beginning to become slightly irritating.</p><p>As a child, he could be… difficult. He was too clever and too fast and had come too late to the Temple, and so he struggled: with authority, and with Basic, and with homework.</p><p>And Obi-Wan was once fourteen. He remembers enough of those years to know that his apprentice is testing the waters, probing at boundaries, and that’s normal and healthy and expected. It’s just that sometimes Obi-Wan wishes Anakin chose the when and how of the tests and probes better.</p><p>Eleven-year-old Anakin was a terror, but his teenage years might be much worse.</p><p>He approaches the boy, and lowers himself down to the floor with a grunt. Anakin doesn’t look at him. He has something in his hands—a piece or other of machinery—and he’s fiddling with it, stubbornly focusing his attention on it instead of on Obi-Wan.</p><p>“And why is that, Anakin? Please, remind me, if you’d be so kind,” he says, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.</p><p>Anakin rolls his eyes. He doesn’t look up.</p><p>“We need to repair the ship and try and work around the jamming so that we can contact the Temple back on Coruscant. And you want me to do it because that way you can keep me here and busy because you don’t want me to go with you,” he says, petulant.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. Well. Anakin’s not wrong.</p><p>He raises his hand to brush Anakin’s hair from his eyes, but when the boy ducks his head he freezes. He lowers his hand, feeling awkward.</p><p>For a few seconds they stay like that, sitting on the cold, metal floor, both of them quiet, the silence uncomfortable. Finally, Anakin huffs, and he slouches further, knocks his knobby right knee against Obi-Wan’s shin.</p><p>“Is it working?” he says, trying to keep his tone light, and Anakin scowls. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he continues, and that might not be exactly the truth, but it’s true enough, “but you’re my padawan, and we don’t know what we’ll be getting into. I’d rather you stay here, where it’s safe.”</p><p>Anakin’s shoulders relax slightly, and he looks at Obi-Wan from under his fringe.</p><p>“I know you’re right, master,” he says, his voice barely above a whine, “but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Obi-Wan laughs. This time, when he attempts to brush Anakin’s hair, the teen doesn’t move away.</p><p>Obi-Wan smiles at his padawan. He’s grown again—he’s pretty sure that in a few months Anakin will be taller than he is. Right now, though, he still has a handful of inches on the boy, who is all gangly long limbs and accidental grace.</p><p>“I’ll be fine, m- Ben,” Anakin says, exasperated. “I’ll stay here and fix the ship. And I’m not the one going to the town disguised as a bounty hunter.”</p><p>“Well, that’s also because you can’t lie to save your life, my young padawan,” Obi-Wan tells him. The teenager rolls his eyes once again, avoiding his gaze. “Not to me, at least.”</p><p>Anakin smiles, sudden and bright. “That’s what you think, master.”</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts. He stands up again, stretches his back.</p><p>“All right. Once again.”</p><p>He walks down the hallway, his hand on his blaster holster, his shoulders lower than he’s used to. When he reaches the end, he turns on his heels and looks at Anakin, arms crossed. He raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“Do you even know how to shoot with one of these, master?” Anakin asks, suddenly anxious and full of concern. “I mean, I know you don’t like blasters, and I think I have never even seen you holding one.”</p><p>Obi-Wan unholsters his weapon. It’s true that it's been at least a few years since the last time he had to shoot a blaster, but he’s not worried. The Force is a great ally, and all that.</p><p>And if everything goes as it should, he won’t even need to shoot a single shot. He ejects the clip, checks the power pack, fiddles with the safety settings. It’s an old Westar model, heavier than the more modern ones but still in good working order.</p><p>He’ll be leaving his ‘saber in the ship with Anakin, but the blaster won't be his only weapon. He’s hidden a vibroknife in one of his boots, there’s another one in his belt, and if everything else fails—well. The Force is always with him.</p><p>“Let me worry about the gun, Anakin. How do I look?”</p><p>Anakin stands up as well, looks at him from head to toe, head tilted and brow wrinkled. Finally, he grins.</p><p>“Like a karking murishani, master,” he says. “Can I take a holo? Nobody will believe me otherwise.”</p><p>Quinlan most certainly would, but Anakin doesn’t need to know that.</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts. He approaches his apprentice once again, rubs his hair slightly stronger than he should. The kid ducks his head and dodges him with a half-hearted scowl.</p><p>“Language, padawan,” Obi-Wan says, because even if he does look like <em>a fucking bounty hunter</em> he still has to say it, and then he sighs. The spacer clothes he’s changed into are perfectly common, but it’s been some time since Obi-Wan had to wear anything that’s not robes. The weight’s all wrong—the jacket is too tight around his shoulders, and the trousers are clearly meant for someone taller than he is, and bunch uncomfortably around his ankles under his boots. He should feel grateful they even had a change of civilian clothes, but he can’t help but miss his tunic, and his robe, and everything else.</p><p>Anakin stands up, and Obi-Wan turns to look at him. The teenager is already looking at Obi-Wan, munching on his lip. He’s trying to shield his thoughts, but their bond thrums with his worry and anxiety. It’s not the first time that a mission has gone wrong on them, or the first time he’ll be left on his own, but it never gets easier.</p><p>If Obi-Wan had known it’d get this dangerous, he’d have left him on Coruscant, in the Temple, where he’d be safe—Anakin is clever, and he’s brave, and he’s on his way to becoming one of the best duelists the Order has ever seen, but he’s still only fourteen.</p><p>“Anakin, it’ll be fine. It’s not the worst mess we’ve ever been in,” he says. He grabs the boy’s thin shoulders, shakes him a little. “We’ll keep in contact. I’ll snoop around, see what can be done about those cannons, you’ll do… whatever it is you plan to do to the engine, and that’ll be it. In less than a tenday we’ll be back on Coruscant, you’ll see.”</p><p>Anakin rolls his eyes again, and a small smirk appears on his face. The worry doesn’t completely disappear, but Obi-Wan feels it lessen. He takes a step back, puts a bit of distance between them, all teenage disaffection, and shakes his head.</p><p>“Whatever you say, master.”</p><p>*</p><p>The mines are far away to the West, closer to the hills, and the sky over them has a sickly brown tint that dirties the blue of the sky. Sometimes a gust of wind blows down from that direction, and the toxins of what they are mining constrict his throat, trying to grab hold of his lungs. The dossier he read on the way there said it was rhydonium—whatever it is, it’s slowly poisoning the little moon. The road he’s walking on is surrounded by empty fields, the crops long dead and gone.</p><p>Far away, peeking over the horizon, he can see the low buildings of the biggest settlement in the area. A freighter takes off from the small spaceport nearby and disappears with a low roar he can still hear despite the distance. The rumbling of its engines quickly fades away, replaced once again by the buzzing of insects, by the crunching of his boots over the dirt road. It’s early in the satellite’s long day cycle, but it’s already too warm for comfort. He’s sweating under his leatheris jacket, and the back of his neck feels hot. The nearby asteroid field shines pale and delicate over his head, half-invisible over the blue sky.</p><p>A few meters down the road he can see a small, crooked tree, its leaves like small green needles. When he reaches it, Obi-Wan ducks under its rapidly disappearing shadow, to rest and take a sip of warm water from his canteen. He should have grabbed a hat—if he passes out from heatstroke before he even reaches the town, Anakin will be insufferable.</p><p>Who would have thought that having a smug teenager loudly and gleefully laughing at you would make you think twice about all and every one of your choices.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He drinks some more, wipes the sweat from his face, and keeps walking.</p><p>A few minutes later, he hears the far-away rumbling of a speeder. He moves to the right of the road, and soon enough a vehicle appears around the bend. The driver is an Ithorian almost as old and dusty as the speeder itself, and when they see him, they stop, the engine idling.</p><p>Obi-Wan looks at him over his shoulder and stops as well.</p><p>“You’re looking quite red, stranger,” they say, their translated voice scratchy and strangely toneless. They blink down at Obi-Wan with short-sighted eyes, and the Jedi looks back at them for a beat. The Force is quiet. The stranger feels… kind, if tired and anxious and more than a little suspicious.</p><p>“My transport broke down,” Obi-Wan answers, taking care to disguise his accent, to make it sound less upper-levels Coruscanti and more Nowhere, Middle Rim. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”</p><p>The Ithorian grumbles. They stare at Obi-Wan, their eyes pausing on the blaster at his hip, on the vibroknife. There is a big shotgun blaster on the other seat, and they lean a hand on the stock.</p><p>“I can only take you to the nearest town,” they finally say. “If you try anything, I’ll shoot your head off.”</p><p>That’s fair, Obi-Wan supposes.</p><p>“I won’t,” he promises anyway. The Ithorian sighs and nods.</p><p>“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says, because if anything he was raised to be polite, and then jumps in the back of the speeder, tries to find a place between the crates that fill it. The metal feels warm.</p><p>The Ithorian grunts. They wait until Obi-Wan sits down with his back to the wall of the truck, and then gets the vehicle moving.</p><p>“What's your name?” they ask after a while. They have to yell over the sound of the engines.</p><p>“Ben.”</p><p>“Ben what?”</p><p>“Just Ben.”</p><p>The Ithorian grumbles again.</p><p>“That’s not a name,” they say.</p><p>“It’s mine,” answers Obi-Wan. “What’s yours?”</p><p>More grumbles. “You can call me Gonji.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Gonji.”</p><p>Gonji huffs and then falls silent. Obi-Wan takes off his jacket and tries to shade himself from the sun. He's been on this shitty moon for less than a day and he already feels as gritty and disgusting as the crate he’s leaning on; the first thing he’ll do once they get back to the Temple is jump into the ‘fresher.</p><p>If they ever manage to get out of there, of course.</p><p> </p><p>“You shouldn’t be here, stranger,” the Ithorian suddenly says. “Tchuta-1’s dangerous.”</p><p>“It’s not like I have a choice,” he says, truthfully. “Why’s that? Thought it was only a mining colony.”</p><p>Gonji falls quiet, and Obi-Wan keeps his mouth shut as well—the man <em>wants</em> to talk: they're just looking for the right words.</p><p>“Too close to Hutt space,” the Ithorian finally replies.</p><p>“Thought this was just a mining town,” Obi-Wan repeats. “That’s why I tried to stop here. My ship needed repairs.”</p><p>“It is,” the Ithorian answers. “You said your transport broke down?”</p><p>“It did,” Obi-Wan says. “Bad luck, I guess.”</p><p>It’s not a lie, but the man’s not blind. They must have seen their ship come down, and they look smart enough to read between the lines. Obi-Wan does not look back, in the direction of the cliffs that hide the little woods that in turn hide their shuttle.</p><p>“Kawa must be losing her patience,” the Ithorian grumbles. “That’s a bad sign.”</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks.</p><p>“Kawa?”</p><p>That’s not a name he recognises from the mission dossier Mater Windu gave him.</p><p>It might have left out some key details.</p><p>The dossier had described the mission as a property conflict. Two sides, one mine, one small colony world too close to the Hutt space border for comfort. The kind of mission Master-Padawan teams like theirs are supposed to be sent on: low stakes but engaging enough so that apprentices can understand how things like conflict resolution work. A couple of weeks listening to people rant at you, practising self-control and discipline and making nice with petty bureaucrats and administrators.</p><p>The kind of mission a Knight like Obi-Wan, still young but with years of experience under his belt, is more than capable of handling on his own. Anakin was supposed to stay in the Temple for once: he had exams to prepare—and the Council had thought it’d do him some good to spend some time with other children his age.</p><p>However, he managed to convince Obi-Wan that going with him was more important than actually passing his classes or obeying the Council’s orders. The moment they entered real space they were shot down—the only reason they are not dead are Jedi reflexes and the fact that Anakin was born speaking Binary.</p><p>“She took control of the spaceport control room a couple of weeks ago,” the Ithorian answers. “Zabrak lady. Very mean. Used to work for the mine overseer.”</p><p>
  <em>Karking shithspit.</em>
</p><p>“Used to?”</p><p>The Ithorian sighs. They look annoyed, but it’s all a front—they're actually happy to be able to tell someone else about this, someone that’s not involved in whatever the hell is actually going on there.</p><p>They’re close to the little town. Gonji nods their head in the direction of the settlement. “All this is owned by the Hutts,” they say, “but it’s not important enough, or rich enough, for one of them to actually live there.”</p><p>The Ithorian spits a purple glob of something over the door of the speeder, and it may be absolutely disgusting but for once Obi-Wan can understand—he doesn’t like Hutts any better.</p><p>“They have an overseer here, a Twi’lek called Spadaro. He also owns most of the town,” they grumble. “He isn’t bad, could be worse.”</p><p>Obi-Wan keeps quiet—he knows what Gonji means. The overseer will be greedy, prone to senseless cruelty, but also cowardly and unimaginative. Dangerous, but relatively easy to deal with.</p><p>“Kawa used to be his second in command, but she must have gotten greedy. She’s not as rich, and she doesn’t have as many men, but she controls the spaceport.”</p><p>“Sounds complicated,” says Obi-Wan.</p><p>The Ithorian grumbles once again.</p><p>“It’s a pain in the ass,” they say. Their fear fills Obi-Wan’s mouth, bitter. They're mad, they're frustrated, but they're also terrified. “They’re destroying what’s left of the town.”</p><p>“What about the miners?”</p><p>“No miners. All droid-operated for the past five years or so.”</p><p>And that’s yet another thing the dossier got wrong.</p><p>“And the Hutts?”</p><p>“The Hutts won’t care as long as they get rich. And the mines still work, even if Kawa won’t let any of Spadaro’s transports take off.”</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns. He can read between the lines as well. One side controls the mines; the other, the actual means of getting the rhydonium off of the moon. It’s been two weeks already, and both sides used to work together, used to know each other—things must be getting tense.</p><p>Property conflict. Right.</p><p>Obi-Wan hums again, and the Ithorian falls quiet. Despite their apparent talkativeness, there’s something they aren’t telling him, either because they don't actually know, or because they don't’t want to—Obi-Wan’s been doing this kind of job for long enough to know without the Force that something is not as it seems.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything—he leans back, closes his eyes, falls into a light trance that makes him look as if he were asleep. The Force feels strange around the little town—it feels heavy, clenched tight like a fist.</p><p>Or maybe that’s just his own anxiety.</p><p>*</p><p>The settlement is more or less deserted. The Ithorian takes them to what Obi-Wan thinks was once the place’s main street, now empty save for a drifting flimsi bag and flanked by low, two-storey pre-fab buildings.</p><p>Gonji owns a little cantina, one of the few places that are still open, and he stops the vehicle close to its back door. When they get there, Obi-Wan jumps from the speeder and then helps them unload the truck without waiting to be asked. Most of the crates are full of something that clinks when he sets them on the floor—the rest, the Ithorian takes care of themself.</p><p>The crates stink of spice. Obi-Wan keeps his mouth shut and tries not to breath in too deep.</p><p>In the alleyway between the cantina and the next building waits a gaggle of the kind of young person common to all Hutt-controlled spaceport towns: young thugs, high on spice and deathsticks, with aftermarket blasters and attitude problems. One of them tries to trip Obi-Wan when he passes them by carrying the last of the boxes, but he effortlessly avoids the extended leg and doesn’t turn to look at them when they jeer.</p><p>Gonji follows him back inside, a box under each arm, and then closes the back door, grumbling under their breath in Ithorese, their translator disconnected.</p><p>The place is empty—it’s a small, dingy room with a beat-up holoprojector and a couple of stained tables. Obi-Wan takes a seat at the bar and lays his jacket on the stool next to his; his blaster pokes him in his thigh, and he adjusts the holster. He’s starting to get used to its unfamiliar weight, which is both a good and a bad thing. He feels strangely vulnerable without his lightsaber.</p><p>“Do you serve food here?” he asks. The Ithorian shakes their big head, and then reconnects the translator.</p><p>“Just drinks. Used to have a menu, back then when this was a real town.”</p><p>The translator makes him sound entirely toneless, but Obi-Wan can feel the man’s sadness. He misses what this place used to be—Obi-Wan wonders why he’s not left, yet. It must be hard, just keeping the place open.</p><p>“That’s alright. Corellian ale?”</p><p>The Ithorian doesn’t answer—they just turn around and begin to prepare Obi-Wan’s drink.</p><p>The inside of the cantina is cool and dry. It smells of old sweat and smoke, of spilled alcohol and low-quality spice. When Obi-Wan takes a sip of his drink, he finds it lukewarm and bitter—it’s cut with something he hopes is just water, and not the one from the local pipes. Obi-Wan drinks, the beer soothing his dry throat and his gaze low, and observes Gonji from the corner of his eye.</p><p>The Ithoresian clearly has something on their mind, but they keep quiet, staring at Obi-Wan in turn while trying to look like they aren’t actually doing so. They're good, and it’s hard to tell with Ithorians anyway, but Obi-Wan’s better—he can feel the weight of their attention like a black hole in the Force.</p><p>They're an interesting character. Talkative and secretive at the same time, practical but with a hardened core made of kindness that the place hasn’t managed to destroy.</p><p>The front door of the cantina is wide open. Obi-Wan stands up, his drink in his right hand, and goes to lean on the door jamb. There’s not much to see beyond the threshold, but he looks around. The sky is clear, and the asteroid field that rings the nearby planet is barely visible over the low rooftops. Obi-Wan lowers his eyes, and sees empty houses and closed shops, the two-store buildings that flank the little street looking over the dirt ground with shuttered windows. It smells foul. Partly it’s because of the mines, but it is not just that: it stinks of garbage, of dirty bodies and organic waste.</p><p>Here and there, however, are the remains of what once must have been a thriving little town: there’s a school right in front of the cantina, its windows broken and the bright colours of its front wall badly stained, and a few doors down he can see a café, a little restaurant, a shop.</p><p>Everything looks as if it’s been shuttered for a while, however: the only places still open are Gonji’s bar, and something that once must have been a brothel—the neons are dark, but the dancing Twi’lek woman from the big sign that hangs over the front door is unmistakable. A couple of beings stand guard right beneath—they look bored, but they are heavily armed.</p><p>Beyond the last house of the little town, but close enough one can walk from one place to the other in less than ten minutes, there’s what was once a farm. The fields around are either completely dead or overgrown, but the complex is still inhabited—it’s also guarded.</p><p>Obi-Wan drinks, and tries to keep the frown from his face.</p><p>This shouldn’t have happened.</p><p>Not the town’s slow but inexorable decay—he’s old enough, and he’s travelled enough around the galaxy, to know that nominally belonging to the Republic, or even being in Republic space, doesn’t actually mean anything in the long run. Deserted colonies like this one are everywhere in the galaxy. It’s a sad place—the miners and the colonists, had managed to build a life here before the Hutts bought the land, and their feelings are still imprinted on the duracrete, on the little street’s grey dirt. Sadness, frustrated rage, loss, grief. They’re everywhere, muted but there, if you know what to look for.</p><p>But they should have known about it—if not the Senate, at least the Order. The Council should have looked into it before sending Obi-Wan to this place.</p><p>Missions go wrong—that’s a fact of life. But he—they—shouldn’t have been sent to Tchuta-1 in the first place.</p><p>Now, he and Anakin are stuck on the moon, in the middle of a situation they do not understand, in a place that’s very probably hostile to Jedi, and with no way of either contacting the Temple or getting back home on their own.</p><p>Anakin will be able to fix the shuttle. He may be angry and stubborn and difficult, but Obi-Wan <em>does</em> trust him. But if they try to leave, the cannons will very probably shoot them off the sky once again, and while Obi-Wan knows the Temple will send someone after them if they stay too long without contacting them, he’d rather not put anyone else in danger.</p><p>It’d be pretty embarrassing as well.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs, takes another sip of his beer, and then grimaces. It really is vile.</p><p>He’ll have to think of something.</p><p>The small street is completely empty save for a small group of sentients, who seem to be standing guard next to the entrance of the former brothel. While he looks, the thugs from before round the corner: Obi-Wan looks on with interest while they cross the square and stop a few meters from the guarded building.</p><p>They begin to heckle the guards stationed in front of the place, their cackles loud enough they cross the space that separates them.</p><p>Gonji crosses the bar, their heavy steps making the floor creak, and they stop to stand next to Obi-Wan.</p><p>“That’s Kawa’s people,” they say. The Ithorian points then at the building and the guards there. Obi-Wan can feel their fury and shame from where he stands. “And that building there is Spadaro’s brothel. The overseer, I mean. That’s where he lives too.”</p><p>Obi-Wan takes another small sip.</p><p>“So,” he begins, “which side would you say it’s more dangerous?”</p><p>The Ithorian’s shock rings in the Force. They grumble under their breath.</p><p>“Kawa,” they finally answer. “Spadaro is richer, but most of the good fighters went with her when she left. Why? Are you looking for a job?”</p><p>Gonji’s voice drips with disapproval, but they don’t sound exactly surprised. Obi-Wan blinks.</p><p>He must really look the part.</p><p>“Maybe,” he says.</p><p>The Ithorian leaves him there, grumbling under their breath all the while. They haven’t bothered switching off their translator, and Obi-Wan raises a brow when he hears something about <em>another fucking bounty hunter</em>.</p><p>Obi-Wan hums. He stays where he is, watching the fight, his drink slowly warming in his hand, and he’s still there when what he’s begun to think as Kawa’s people realise he’s watching them. One of them looks at him, tells something to the rest of their friends, and then they begin approaching the cantina, bored, frustrated aggression swirling in the Force about them.</p><p>There is a low stool right next to the door. Obi-Wan leans inside the cantina and leaves his drink there. The Ithorian looks away from the holoscreen and back at him—if they had eyebrows he’d be scowling, Obi-Wan’s sure of that, but they don’t say anything, not when someone begins to scream abuse at them and at Obi-Wan and at the cantina, and not when Obi-Wan punches them in the mouth.</p><p>*</p><p>“Fett.”</p><p>Jango doesn’t move from where he is. From the corner of his eye, the Rodian approaches him from the right. He stops a few steps away, however, and doesn’t try to touch him.</p><p>Most of Kawa’s people treat him like that, like a dangerous animal or an unexploded bomb. It is irritating, but not unexpected.</p><p>They’re in the courtyard of Kawa’s place, a small farm that once upon a time must have been a bustling, busy little place. Jango is armoured up, like he has been since they got trapped there, glad of his kute’s regulated fabric and the filters of his buy’ce.</p><p>He can see Boba’s little face on the other side of the window, high up on the second floor. His child looks at him intently, his dark eyes clever and just a little scared. A few nights ago, the first time he was allowed to see his son, Jango found the small cushion the child has place beneath the window sill so he can spend however long he wants there, waiting and watching for him.</p><p>He is can also see the explosive collar. The midday sun glints off the dull metal. It’s tiny, designed for smaller species, but Boba is just five, and it chafes on his small neck. He doesn’t complain much, but Jango sees the blisters every night.</p><p>“Fett. Mando! I’m talking to you.”</p><p>Jango tilts his buy’ce, and the Rodian actually moves back a step, his hands raised.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“There’s something going on outside,” he says. He looks anxious, but then again: he always does. “Out in the street.”</p><p>Jango doesn’t understand why that’s his business, but he’s good at keeping quiet, at the waiting game, so he steps off the wall, swallows his irritation and his disdain and, with a last look at his son, he turns away.</p><p>Tchuta-1 is a dismal place. It’s not the worst place he’s ever been in, but it’s small, dirty and poor, dangerous in a depressingly provincial way. The only reason anyone still lives there is the mines, and since the Hutts took over, what little life still held on is slowly dying off. It’s a familiar if sad tale—Jango doesn’t care about it. The galaxy is a terrible, pitiless place, and to expect anything different from it is to set oneself up for failure.</p><p>He doesn’t feel anything except disgust when he crosses the main door to Kawa’s farmhouse and steps into the road outside.</p><p>From the direction of the main street travels the noise of what looks like a fight. With a last look at the Rodian, Jango starts to walk, the sun hitting down on his buy’ce and his boots crunching on the dirt road.</p><p>There’s a man beating the shit out of a group of Kawa’s less interesting thugs. From the distance he looks human, lean and not very tall. He’s holding a vibroknife in his right hand, and while Jango looks, he turns, ducks a Zabrak’s left hook and cuts and then cuts his face in half.</p><p>It’s just him against four or five of Kawa’s people—and he’s winning.</p><p>And the thing is: Jango’s met them, and he knows that usually they are very drunk, very high, or both. They aren’t very good, that’s the thing. Untrained and undisciplined and astoundingly stupid.</p><p>But they don’t need to fight clever—they never fight alone. They can count on numbers, on whoever is at their back—they can rely on the fact that while one on one they’ll almost always lose, they won’t ever find themselves in that kind of situation.</p><p>The ease with which the stranger is wiping the floor with them is embarrassing.</p><p>Jango crosses his arms and settles down to watch.</p><p>“Aren’t you going to do anything?” the Rodian says. He’s at Jango’s back, a couple of steps to the right. Jango tilts his head and keeps quiet, keeps his eyes on the stranger, zooms in on him with his buy’ce’s HUD.</p><p>He has light hair and a reddish scruff on his jaw. Clearly trained, very well and for a very long time. This is a man who knows what he’s doing. He dresses as a spacer, but something feels off about his clothes and the way he wears them. They are worn, and they fit him well enough, and he clearly feels comfortable enough wearing them that they don’t impede his movements.</p><p>They still feel like a costume.</p><p>“No,” Jango answers. He doesn’t leave, though.</p><p>This is the most entertained he’s been in days. And something tells him it’s the same for the other man—he moves like he’s actually having fun.</p><p>One of the thugs manages to actually scratch the stranger’s arm with her vibroblade, and she’s so shocked she almost drops it. The man says something that Jango doesn’t catch, and then kicks her in the face so hard Jango the crack of her head against the wall reaches him.</p><p>The Weequay woman was the last one standing, and once she drops to the ground, she doesn’t move again. The stranger looks around himself, flicks the blood off his blade and then turns it off before making it disappear under his jacket with a flourish. He’s barely breathing hard. He pokes at the wound on his arm through his jacket and then leaves it be, and Jango feels his eyebrows raise, almost against his will.</p><p>It’s not that easy to just ignore a wound, even if it’s merely a scratch. It’ll hurt, and itch, and it’s still bleeding, dripping on the dirt.</p><p>Maybe he’d be able to take him. He’s pretty sure he would. The stranger looks younger than him, and he <em>is</em> taller, but Jango’s got experience and beskar on his side.</p><p>Even then, it may be a challenge, something he hasn’t had the fortune to encounter for quite some time.</p><p>Jango frowns, suddenly suspicious—he has a bad feeling about this.</p><p>The man must feel Jango’s eyes on him, because he turns around. He blinks when he sees Jango, when he sees the armour, and Jango sees his right hand twitch, the motion there and gone.</p><p>Jango nods, slowly, slightly exaggerated, and the man stares back at him, apparently surprised.</p><p>The shock lasts barely a second, though. The stranger smiles, crooked and bizarrely charming under the dust and the blood and his floppy auburn hair, and offers him a two fingered salute. Someone calls him, and he turns his back on Jango without a second thought and disappears into one of the houses that line the square.</p><p>Namely, into Spadaro’s.</p><p>Jango closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted; the fact that he saw it coming doesn’t make him feel less tired.</p><p>Shab.</p><p>*</p><p>The Mandalorian might be a problem. Their presence is a shock—it’s been years since the last time Obi-Wan saw <em>beskar’gam</em>. He guesses they could be <em>Kyr’tsad</em>, but the armour is mostly unpainted, shining silver and blue in the midday sun, and most of it looks like real beskar, not the durasteel alloy most Mandalorians who still follow the Creed wear.</p><p>Whoever it is nods at him, but doesn’t move in his direction, so Obi-Wan puts them out of his mind.</p><p>Obi-Wan steps through the brothel’s threshold. His arm hurts, but the wound doesn’t worry him overmuch. It’s barely a scratch, and he’s sure it’ll stop bleeding on its own in a few minutes.</p><p>A Gamorrean guard appears, their small eyes blinking at him in the darkness. He tries to grab Obi-Wan’s arm, and he dodges their hand.</p><p>The Gamorrean growls, low and rumbling.</p><p>“Leave it,” a voice says. It’s cold and hoarse, with a slight accent—probably Huttese.</p><p>Obi-Wan nods at the Gamorrean, and smiles. “After you, my friend,” he says.</p><p>He follows them into an equally dark room in the first floor of the house. If it’s actually a brothel, it doesn’t look like any brothel Obi-Wan has ever been to. Most of the windows are wide open, the place full of pale light, and the few pieces of furniture that he can see are old, broken down. It stinks of cheap alcohol, greasy food and the sweat of a thousand different species, and from somewhere on the upper floors comes the sound of music—someone must be watching something on the holonet.</p><p>Obi-Wan is led into a small room that he guesses is used as an office. After the light that fills the outside rooms it’s shockingly dark, and Obi-Wan blinks, suddenly half blind. There’s a desk, a boarded up window, a shelf chock full of datapads and haphazard flimsi piles, and a gaunt red Twi’lek with the too-bright eyes of a spice addict sitting on the only chair, on the other side of the desk.</p><p>His dark eyes fall to Obi-Wan’s wound, and he frowns. He says something in Huttese to the Gamorrean, and the guard steps for a second out of the room to yell something that Obi-Wan’s modest knowledge of the language doesn’t quite understand.</p><p>“My friend,” he says once the Gamorrean has returned. “I wanted to thank you for your… help. Taking out the trash.”</p><p>Obi-Wan nods.</p><p>“It was nothing,” he answers, and then shuts his mouth.</p><p>The Twi’lek looks at him over his joined hands. They tremble slightly, but he doesn’t pay any attention to them. He looks fragile, thin and sickly, but his eyes are cold, and Obi-Wan has the feeling that he sees more than Obi-Wan would like him to. In the Force, he feels anxious and tired, but sharp, more scalpel than vibroknife. Calm waters, deep and dark, full of fanged things.</p><p>He is a smart man. Obi-Wan has dealt with smarter, but he has enough self-awareness to admit to himself that he’s nicely surprised.</p><p>He probably shouldn’t be.</p><p>“My name is Spadaro. I oversee this mining operation,” the man finally says. He stops, takes a sip of the glass that sits in front of him on the desk. The sharp smell of liquor reaches Obi-Wan’s nose. “I believe you already know what I’m going to say—you look like a smart man.”</p><p>The door opens at Obi-Wan’s back, and he looks over his shoulder. An old Toydarian appears on the other side. They look half-asleep, and carry something in their right hand.</p><p>“Hercules,” Spadaro says. “Please wait in the other room. Our friend will be with you shortly.”</p><p>Obi-Wan raises his brow. “Will I?” he politely asks.</p><p>The Toydarian grunts and turns away with a clumsy flutter of wings, closing the door behind him.</p><p>Spadaro looks at Obi-Wan.</p><p>“He’s a doctor,” he explains. “He will see to your arm.”</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t frown, but it’s a near thing.</p><p>“That won’t be necessary,” he begins. The Twi’lek raises a hand, and he shuts up.</p><p>“You’re getting blood on my floor,” he says mildly. Obi-Wan blinks, and glances down: he’s right.</p><p>“Oh. Excuse me,” he replies. “Thank you, then.”</p><p>Spadaro hums.</p><p>“I find that it doesn’t cost anything being kind,” he answers, serious.</p><p>The Gamorrean snorts; Obi-Wan manages, somehow, to keep a straight face.</p><p>The Twi’lek glances at his guard from the corner of his eye—the Gamorrean quiets down.</p><p>Spadaro turns back to Obi-Wan.</p><p>“What’s your name, my friend?” he asks.</p><p>Obi-Wan breathes in, out. He keeps his hands and shoulders relaxed, reminds himself to slouch slightly.</p><p>He misses his ‘saber.</p><p>“You can call me Ben.”</p><p>The Twi’lek’s right lek twitches. “Just Ben?”</p><p>Obi-Wan nods.</p><p>“Just Ben.”</p><p>Spadaro isn’t happy about this, but he keeps the feeling out of his face. He’s good at this. It doesn’t bode well for Obi-Wan—it says a lot about the kind of person able to steal half of his operation from under his nose.</p><p>“Very well, Ben,” the Twi’lek says. He leans on his elbows, right lek curling and uncurling over his shoulder. “I would like to offer you a job.”</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t let himself swallow. This is important. This conversation is important.</p><p>“I wasn’t looking for a job,” he replies. It’s the truth. He doesn’t want a job. He certainly doesn’t want to work for some spiced-up Hutt underling.</p><p>Spadaro tilts his head—his lek stills.</p><p>“Oh? What do you want, then?”</p><p>Obi-Wan smiles blandly. His heart is beating hard in his chest.</p><p>“Out of here,” he says. He blinks, makes a gamble. “My ship was shot down when I was approaching. Just wanted to refuel. I’ve got business elsewhere.”</p><p>Spadaro hums, and then smiles, revealing sharp teeth.</p><p>“It seems we’re in luck, then,” he replies. “We both want the same thing.”</p><p>Obi-Wan keeps quiet; the Twi’lek keeps talking.</p><p>He takes the job the second time Spadaro offers it to him, and tries not to think how he’ll explain this to the Council.</p><p>*</p><p>They talk about money, and contracts, and Obi-Wan tries to keep his shock from his face when he hears how much Spadaro is willing to pay him.</p><p>The man must be quite worried, or the situation is worse than Gonji implied—in any case, it’s such an absurd quantity of money that for half a second, Obi-Wan actually considers changing careers. At the same time, however, it raises more questions than it answers: for instance, if Spadaro can afford to spend that kind of money on a single contract, how come Kawa is still a problem.</p><p>Spadaro wants him to join his main force, to help watch the cargo in the trips to and from the mines, and when he’s ready to make a move against Kawa, to fight. Obi-Wan is told that he can stay there, that he can choose whichever room he wants from the upper floors—the place used to be a brothel, yes, but it’s been empty for years and years.</p><p>Afterwards, he goes to the little room on the other side of the hall and steps in without knocking. The Toydarian inside—Hercules, Spadaro called him, and isn’t that a weird name for a Toydarian?—is sitting on a little cot, drinking from a flask, when Obi-Wan enters.</p><p>The man pats the bed and stands up, his wings stuttering to life, and Obi-Wan obeys the gesture after taking off his jacket. He’ll need to find a way to repair the gash.</p><p>The Toydarian tsks. He hides his flask somewhere and opens one of the cabinets that line the walls.</p><p>“Shirt too, boy,” he says, gruff. “Ask one of the kitchen droids afterwards to fix it, and the jacket too. They’ll wash it for you.”</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs and does as he’s told before sitting on the cot. The Toydarian turns on one of the overhead lights and squints, his wrinkled, cold hands surprisingly gentle on Obi-Wan’s arm. He hums.</p><p>He’s not completely sober, and he’s old, but he exudes an air of weary competence, and the part of Obi-Wan that’s spent so long in the Halls of Healing cannot help but trust him. He wonders how the man has ended up somewhere like Tchuta-1.</p><p>“No bacta for something that small, so it’ll scar,” the Toydarian warns him. “But something tells me you’re used to that.”</p><p>Obi-Wan’s led a weird life, even for a Jedi, and it shows.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he replies. The Toydarian hums again, and begins to clean the wound. His hands tremble slightly, and when he grabs a dermal knitter instead of needle and thread, Obi-Wan can feel himself relax.</p><p>“Oh no, I’m too old and too drunk to use anything that’s not one of these things,” he says. “And we have a surgical droid under lock and key for bad cases. So don’t worry.”</p><p>“I never would” Obi-Wan replies. Hercules snorts.</p><p>“It’s okay, boy. I wouldn’t trust myself either,” the Toydarian says. He pats Obi-Wan's arm absently. “Now keep still.”</p><p>The sting of the dermal knitter closing his wound is a familiar one. Obi-Wan keeps himself still, keeps quiet, uses the chance to feel out the medic.</p><p>He mostly feels tired. Tired and hopeless, without the stubborn drive he found in Gonji.</p><p>When Hercules finishes fixing up Obi-Wan, he looks at him from the corner of his eye while he puts everything back into the cabinet and turns off the harsh white light.</p><p>“So, Spadaro has brought you in?” he ends up saying.</p><p>Obi-Wan nods. He puts on his shirt first, and then the jacket. His arm hurts, but the feeling is bearable.</p><p>The Toydarian stops fiddling with the cupboards and turns back to him. He opens his mouth, changes his mind, and closes it again.</p><p>Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows. “Yes?”</p><p>The man shakes his head. “Nothing. The kitchen is through the old bar, the door in front of this one.”</p><p>For an instant, Obi-Wan’s tempted to press the issue—but he’s tired, and he wants some time to think, to talk to Anakin.</p><p>He nods his thanks, and then turns around and goes out of the door.</p><p>He decides to find out first exactly what kind of lodgings he can expect of a former brothel in the middle of a half-abandoned mining colony in the middle of nowhere, and he goes up the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>The place is old and dusty, but not outright dirty. He finds a couple of cleaning droids—old models, with clunky chassis and rusty charging ports—charging in the hallway of the first floor, and here and there on the walls he can see what he interprets as its former tenants' efforts at making the place feel homier, classier than it actually is. There are some cheap art prints, the ink faded and the flimsi cracked around the corners, and the carpeted floor is dirty and full of holes.</p><p>Most of the rooms in the first floor are already occupied, so Obi-Wan keeps on climbing. The second floor is more or less the same as the others, if slightly more dustier, with newer decoration. There’s a round window at the end of the long hallway, with cracked and broken window panes, and the setting sun filters through them and fills the place with pale golden light.</p><p>Most of the doors are locked, but the one at the end of the hallway doesn’t beep at him when he tries the lock. It opens instead, revealing a small room as dusty and old-fashioned as the rest of the former brothel, with a bed that’s little more than a cot pushed under its only window, a bedside table and a wardrobe. There’s another door inside, and when Obi-Wan opens it, it reveals a stamp-sized private ‘fresher—the brothel is bigger than it looks from the outside.</p><p>The first thing he does is update the lock so that the room appears as occupied; afterwards, he sweeps the room in search of bugs or other recording devices—he finds none.</p><p>Once that’s done, Obi-Wan finds himself at a loss. He should go downstairs, to the kitchens, try to mingle with the rest of Spadaro’s forces, patch up his shirt; he should try to meditate, to think of a plan.</p><p>Obi-Wan sits down on the bed. The coverlet is more or less clean, if slightly dusty, and he lets himself fall down. Gonji’s awful ale is sloshing around in his stomach like so many worms.</p><p>He could probably risk contacting Anakin—he’s alone on the second floor, and there are no bugs, and he can’t sense anybody nearby. He doesn’t dare, though; he’ll wait until the sun is down.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s too wired to fall asleep, but he closes his eyes. He’s found himself a place with Spadaro; tomorrow morning he’ll have to go out with the rest of his men. He will be given weapons, a rifle, and made to lay down an ambush with the rest of them, somewhere closer to the mines.</p><p>He really doesn’t know how he’ll explain all this to the Council.</p><p>*</p><p>Anakin answers almost immediately. The sun is starting to go down, and Obi-Wan sits with his back to the small plaster railing.</p><p>“Obi-Wan? Are you alright?” He sounds fine, if a bit worried and anxious. The comm is audio only, so he can’t see his face, but Obi-Wan finds it easy to imagine his expression, his furrowed brow, and the way he’ll be chewing on his padawan braid.</p><p>“Yes, Anakin, everything’s fine,” he answers. Obi-Wan grimaces and then corrects himself. “Well, more or less.”</p><p>Anakin sighs. He doesn’t sound surprised.</p><p>“How are the repairs going?”</p><p>“I’m almost done. I had to fix one of the parts myself, but it’s fine. What about you? What’s the problem?”</p><p>Obi-Wan tells him about the gang war, and about his precarious position as the shiny new enforcer of Spadaro’s band. At first, Anakin laughs incredulously—but then the gravity of their situation dawns on him.</p><p>“But what if they find out about you know what?” he asks.</p><p>Obi-Wan rubs his face. His skin feels hot and dry—that morning’s short hike under the sun wasn’t kind to the skin of his face. His head hurts, and he feels as if he could sleep for a week already.</p><p>“They <em>can’t</em>,” he says. “We aren’t actually allowed to intervene in a place like this—we’re too close to Hutt space and the fact that the colony is also owned by the Hutts complicates things. The Order could get in trouble with the Senate.”</p><p>Anakin keeps quiet for an instant—Obi-Wan can almost hear him think, and he smiles. He’s growing up.</p><p>“Why did they give you this mission then? It doesn’t make any sense,” he asks. He sounds frustrated.</p><p>Obi-Wan agrees.</p><p>“It is what it is,” he replies instead. “It only means that we have to be very careful about what we do here and how we do it.”</p><p>Some of the masters back in the Temple would say that Obi-Wan’s typical approach to this particular situation is exactly the opposite of this—and while they might be right, he’s only doing what he thinks Qui-Gon would have done. And, if anything, his master’s plans usually worked.</p><p>“So we shouldn’t get caught. That’s what you mean,” Anakin translates. “Or, well. <em>You </em>shouldn’t get caught.”</p><p>Obi-Wan chuckles. “Yes. That as well.”</p><p>His padawan sighs, long-suffering. “You should have brought me with you,” he says.</p><p>“Oh, yes, because a fourteen-year-old Jedi padawan wouldn’t have caught anyone’s attention, and being discrete is clearly one of your strengths, right, my young apprentice?”</p><p>Anakin keeps quiet—he knows Obi-Wan is right, but Obi-Wan can feel him sulking from where he is.</p><p>He’s just… scared, and anxious, and bored, and lonely. All normal things, things anybody in his situation would be feeling.</p><p>The thing about Anakin, however, is that he doesn’t actually tend to think before acting, especially when he’s feeling things.</p><p>And he feels things <em>all the time.</em></p><p>Nonetheless, he’s fourteen, and he’s worried, and Obi-Wan is his master and his guardian, and Anakin doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his own worry, of his own exhaustion.</p><p>“Anakin?”</p><p>The teenager sighs. “Yes, master?”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Anakin. I know you’re worried. It’ll be fine.”</p><p>“What if you need me?”</p><p>Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. He’s such a good kid.</p><p>“I’ll let you know,” he lies. “I need to go. I’ll try to comm you tomorrow morning. All right?”</p><p>A beat. “Fine. Be careful, master.”</p><p>“I always am.”</p><p>Anakin snorts, disbelieving.</p><p>“What am I supposed to do while you’re there? Just wait here?” he asks.</p><p>“You finish fixing up the ship, and you keep an eye on the scanners. The Order knows where we are—if we stay away too long, they’ll send someone to look for us.”</p><p>“But what if something happens to you?”</p><p>“Anakin. If something happens to me I want you to stay in the ship, and be smart, and wait for the Order.”</p><p>The boy takes so long to answer that, for an instant, Obi-Wan thinks he’s cut off the connection—it wouldn’t be the first time.</p><p>“I— I have a bad feeling about this, master,” he says. Suddenly, he sounds very young.</p><p>Obi-Wan rubs his face. He thinks about what to say—he wonders about the right way to say it. His words never fail him as much as when he’s trying to comfort Anakin.</p><p>“I trust you,” it’s what he settles on. He bites his lip, glad he’s alone. “Can you trust me?”</p><p>Anakin sighs. Obi-Wan hears him swallow.</p><p>“... yes, master.”</p><p>He doesn’t sound very convinced. Obi-Wan doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing.</p><p>It will have to do.</p><p>*</p><p>The room where they have his son is small and dirty. There’s a low cot next to one of the walls, a table with two chairs and not much else. The colony gets cold at night, and the child is shivering, snuggled against Jango’s chest.</p><p>He wishes he could take off his armour, give Boba a proper hug—but they are never alone. Not really. One of Kawa’s guards waits on the other side of the closed door, and the window at Jango’s back doesn’t have blinds.</p><p>The boy is hugging Jango’s helmet to his chest, his small hands smudging the beskar. With a suspicious look to the door, he leans up so he can speak close to Jango’s ear.</p><p>He has to swallow a smile—he may be young, but he’s also clever, resilient, and so incredibly brave.</p><p>“Where did you go today?” he whispers. Not in Basic, but in Mando’a. “You left.”</p><p>Jango takes a second to think about his answer. He hums deep in his throat, and raises a hand to brush Boba’s curls aside.</p><p>Once they’re done there, he’ll have to cut his hair. It’s getting way too long—he’s starting to look like the galaxy’s tiniest Wookie.</p><p>“There was a fight,” he finally says.</p><p>“A fight?” Boba grins, sudden and bright. He leans back, raises his voice before remembering where they are. “Who won, buir? Did you?”</p><p>“I don’t know. It ended before I arrived,” he says.</p><p>“But you would have won.” His son’s voice is full of the kind of unbeatable, unquenchable trust that Jango wishes he deserved. He feels something break inside his chest. He drops a kiss on the crown of his head, uses the excuse it provides to breath in and blink his fury away.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Boba falls silent. Jango hears him yawn, and then the child leans his head back on Jango’s chest. The collar hits the beskar with a dull sound.</p><p>“Bu,” Boba says. He continues, his voice small. “When are we going back home?”</p><p>He hasn’t called him that in some time.</p><p>Jango brushes his hair from his face, drops another kiss on his forehead, and tries to keep the impotence, from his voice.</p><p>“Very soon, ad’ika. Very soon.”</p><p>*</p><p>Kawa calls him down to the farmhouse’s main room half an hour later.</p><p>She’s a tall Iridonian Zabrak who wears her long, dark hair braided and away from her face. She sits at the head of a long table, her second at her right side, and one of her enforcers leaning on the wall at her back. She is a good fighter in her own right, but she never meets with Jango alone: there’re always at least another two people in the room with them. He can’t decide if it’s because Kawa doesn’t think that the threat to his son’s life will be enough to stop him if he loses his patience, if she enjoys the show of force, or both.</p><p>It’s probably both.</p><p>Her second is a Human woman called Calanta, older than Jango, short and grizzled. He thinks she’s at least mildly Force sensitive—he’s never seen her do anything out of the ordinary, but he can tell just by watching her and the way she moves through the world.</p><p>When he steps into the room, her yellowish eyes immediately find him. She scowls down at him and then looks away. Not for the first time, he’s glad his buy’ce is real beskar.</p><p>“Fett,” Kawa begins. She smiles, all red lips and sharp fangs. Her tattoos cover her cheeks like black-grey waves. She’s beautiful the way a Krayt dragon is beautiful, all fury, blood and teeth, and she knows it. “My friend. Have you heard the news?”</p><p>Jango tilts his helmet.</p><p>Kawa doesn’t actually expect him to answer.</p><p>“Apparently Spadaro has found himself one of yours,” she says. She sounds more irritated than worried.</p><p>Jango raises an eyebrow inside his helmet.</p><p>“A hunter,” Calanta intervenes, her hoarse voice low and unpleasant in the late night silence. She sounds annoyed. “Human, young, Mid Rim accent. Arrived today with the Ithorian from the cantina.”</p><p>Jango tilts his head back. He didn’t look like a hunter, even if that’s what he said he was.</p><p>He doesn’t say that out loud. He lets the silence grow.</p><p>“We cannot afford another one. I want you to kill him,” Kawa says. She <em>is</em> worried, even if she’s trying to hide it. Jango can see it in the tension around her eyes, in the low growl that he can only hear thanks to his helmet sensors.</p><p>“Why?” he asks.</p><p>The woman stands up. Her green eyes shine, cold and bright like poison, and the humour, the posturing, they disappear.</p><p>She doesn’t have the detonator for Boba’s collar—Jango checked. Calanta doesn’t either. It must be somewhere close by, in the farmhouse, probably in that very room. The guard is a Quarren of indeterminate gender, big and pinkish and dry looking.</p><p>They look angry, but then again, so would Jango if he had to live and work in a hellhole like Tchuta-1 for the rest of his life. He’s been there for two weeks and he already wants to bomb the place from orbit until there’s nothing left.</p><p>“Because I want you to. Because I told you so. Because I have your kid upstairs, Mando,” she says. She rounds the table until she stops right in front of him. She’s big—he has to tilt his head to look her in the eye, even in armour.</p><p>For a beat, they stay like that, Kawa scowling down at him, and Jango so still and so tense and so karking full of rage he sees red.</p><p>“Yes. You do,” he says. Calanta stands up as well, gnarled right hand hovering over the butt of her blaster. “For now.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Ambush</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here's chapter two! once again, thanks to rey for beta'ing this mess, and to bats, millberry and tehei for helping me with mando'a! if the footnotes work as they should, you should be able to read the translations in the final notes of the chapter :)</p><p>i'm extremely bad at answering comments (i get v flustered and never know what to say) but i've read them all and i'm so fucking happy you guys liked the first chapter dsfkjl i hope you enjoy this one, too!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jango can’t really remember a time when violence wasn’t easy.</p><p>It makes sense in a way not many other things do. Cause and effect, the hows and the whys. He knows how to turn himself into a weapon, into a tool—how to stop being a person and become something that knows how to hurt other people until they stop moving or give up.</p><p>When he got Boba, he spent weeks, months, too afraid to do much beyond holding him in his arms—for so long he had only been a thing made for fighting, and he wasn’t sure he remembered how to be anything else. </p><p>It was hard, and it took him time, but he learned how to be soft again, how to be patient, how kindness worked. It’s unfair to put so much weight on someone so young, but he thinks that without his child he’d be less of a person, more of whatever the aftermath of Galidraan and the years in the spice freighter turned him into.</p><p> </p><p>If Boba helped him remember what being a person was like, Kawa is making him forget again. </p><p>Bounty hunting hunting doesn’t count. It’s an ugly job, but it’s just that: a job. A job he enjoys, but not all the time. It keeps him sharp and stops him from getting bored. And he’s very good at it—that doesn’t hurt.</p><p>What he’s being made to do for Kawa is exactly the same kind of work he’s been doing for the past twenty five years—except in all the ways he hates it. </p><p>At his left, Calanta shifts her weight, her hand over the butt of her blaster. She’s wearing a wide brimmed hat, and its shadow darkens her weathered face, makes he harder to read. Jango knows she might be able to feel something off him, muffled and impossible to read—most Force sensitives can, even the ones that have never been formally trained.</p><p>It makes her nervous—if it were up to her, he’d be either far away from there or very dead.</p><p>She’s a smart woman.</p><p>The other men and women don’t really look at him. They fear him—he can see it in the bluster, in their twitchy fingers and stiff backs. Once upon a time, he would have found that funny, but now it just makes him tired. </p><p>They are waiting behind one of the walls of what was once the offices of the mining company that used to own the colony. The sun is very high up in the sky, and it bleaches the white dust that covers the ground, the burned out grass, what’s left of the low duracrete buildings. It would shine off the beskar, if Jango had not been careful to cover it in dust as well. The metal is warm to the touch, but he’s comfortable inside his kute, the insulated interior working as it’s supposed to. </p><p>Once upon a time, before the Hutts came and most of the workers were replaced by droids and slaves, the place had been busy—it’s big for such a small colony. It still smells of unrefined rhydonium, and the sun shines off the abandoned empty barrels on the other side of the street. The jagged crowns of the nearby hills project blue and grey shadows over parts of the road. They crawl down from the sierra the mines are burrowed in like the first waves of a terrible flood, and the low trees up on the ridges make him feel like he’s being watched watched.</p><p>Jango, along with Calanta and three other of Kawa’s men, is hiding behind the remains of a low wall. It’s not the first time in the past two weeks that he’s found himself in this position: Kawa has been harrying Spadaro’s people, trying to steal the unrefined rhydonium loads before they reach the spaceport warehouses. The Twi’lek may not have a way to get them off the moon until he regains control of the cannons, but he appears determined to make it seem like it’s business as usual anyway.</p><p>Apparently, the overseer has finally lost his patience, and this time he’s decided to forego the new spaceport—almost thirty kilometers to the east, almost an hour on one of the heavy trucks that move the barrels from one place to the other—and use the old one—closer to the mines, smaller, and easier to defend.</p><p>It’s not a bad idea in theory, but the only traversable road between the mines and the old spaceport crosses the old mining company settlement, long abandoned and full of broken down buildings and places where some beings can easily hunker down and wait until the moment is right.</p><p>Jango’s almost sure it’s a trap, but no one asks his opinion, so he’s happy to keep quiet.</p><p>His orders are simple: he’s to wait and shoot and fight—so that’s what he intends to do. </p><p>If he sees yesterday’s beroya, Spadaro’s new pet enforcer —he’s had a couple since Jango got there—Jango will kill him, but that’s about it. Kawa may have found a way to ensure his compliance, but this is not a job, and he won’t treat it like one.</p><p>His helmet’s sensors beep—the truck is closing in. He peeks over the wall, lowers his rangefinder. He finds first the cloud of dust, and then he sees the speeder truck, rusty red over the white of the ground and the greyish brown of the fields. A second later, Calanta does as well. She sends out the signal through her wrist comm. </p><p>“We all know the plan, kids, so don’t mess up,” she says, her hoarse voice a low, staticky growl over the communication system.</p><p>Jango keeps his eyes on the truck. It’s preceded by two other vehicles: old hoverbikes from the faint buzzing sound he can detect. Jango frowns.</p><p>The last three times there were more bikes. </p><p>He glances at Calanta—the woman is scowling, binocs still pressed against her eyes. Jango wonders what she’ll do, if she’ll call the ambush off and risk Kawa’s fury, or if she’ll go along with the plan. </p><p>Meanwhile the noise of the old engines grows louder, and the dust cloud grows bigger.</p><p>Calanta lowers her binocs and sighs. After putting them away, she unholsters her blaster, clicks off the safety. She looks back at Jango, who tilts his helmet but keeps quiet—he wonders what it’ll be her next move. She’s been around, Calanta. He wonders how and why she’s ended up there, in the middle of nowhere, following someone like Kawa.</p><p>The woman sneers, her light eyes striking under her hat. Jango rolls his eyes, the gesture hidden by his buy’ce—she unsettles him, but he’s seen and killed scarier things. </p><p>The convoy gets closer and closer, and the men and women unlucky enough to be part of what now Jango is sure is a trap reach for their weapons, their excitement so sharp he thinks he can taste it on the back of his tongue. </p><p>He sighs and unholsters his Westars. </p><p>“Wait until I give the signal,” Calanta barks. Jango snorts. Good luck with that.</p><p>The truck is almost there—Jango lifts the ‘finder, focuses his buy’ce’s HUD on the hoverbikes, on the bigger speeder they precede.</p><p>No life signals—droids, probably. He sighs, the sound muffled by the beskar, and gets ready for things to go wrong. </p><p>On the other side of the street, someone jumps out of a broken window—Rodian, pale blue skin dry and washed out under the relentless sun. They yell something, lift what Jango recognises with a shock as an actual repeater blaster, and then begin to fire. </p><p>The convoy doesn’t stop. Calanta growls something under her breath in a language he doesn’t understand, and jumps over the wall. At the same time, one of the bikes explodes in a cloud of fuel and fire and black smoke.</p><p>Jango curses. When someone starts shooting at them from the treeline, high up on the peak of the low, craggy hills that flank the buildings, he’s already in the air, jetpack warm at his back and his Westars growing hot in his hands.</p><p>*</p><p>The plan wouldn’t have worked on anyone with half a brain, but Spadaro knows his enemy perfectly well.</p><p>“She’s not stupid, and she <em>is</em> ruthless,” he had told all of them the night before, the wind whistling against the brothel’s windows, “but she’s never been very keen on long-term planning.”</p><p>Obi-Wan had kept quiet, his expression bland. He had wondered, then, how it was then that Kawa had managed so much on her own. </p><p>“She’ll fall into the trap,” Spadaro had said, his dark eyes glowing like embers in the soft darkness of the room, “but she won’t be there.”</p><p>They had held the meeting in the brothel’s old bar. Spadaro had his guards behind him, and most of his lieutenants were there as well.</p><p>“Calanta will,” one of them had said. They were a huge Nikto, and their hoarse voice had filled the room to the brim. They had twisted their mouth, revealing sharp teeth. “And the Mando.”</p><p>Spadaro had looked at Obi-Wan then. He had not needed to say anything.</p><p>“You may be overestimating my abilities,” Obi-Wan had said, his tone light. “I know who Jango Fett is—I’ve heard the stories.”</p><p>“They’re only stories,” was Spadaro’s answer. And then, after a beat, “and I’ll pay you more credits than you can count, if you kill him.”</p><p>“Well, in that case,” Obi-Wan had drawled, and then the Nikto had begun to laugh.</p><p>Spadaro wasn’t actually asking him to—Obi-Wan might not be a Shadow, might not have the necessary training or experience to be good at actual spy work, but he knows how these kinds of things work. Just by stepping into Spadaro’s house he signed off his life—and the man will do with it whatever he sees fit with it.</p><p>He doesn’t believe Obi-Wan will be able to kill the Mandalorian. For him, Obi-Wan is just particularly resourceful beroya, who might or might not be slightly better trained than most.</p><p>It shouldn’t bother Obi-Wan as much as it does.</p><p>The old rifle he’s been given jumps against his shoulder, the long muzzle already overheating and the stock vibrating in an alarming way, but Obi-Wan keeps pulling the trigger, trying to keep his shots wide. It’s hard not to shoot to kill, but that’s not what he’s there for, and even if it were, he’s not actually a bounty hunter—Jedi have better ways of doing things.</p><p>He ends up shooting off a lot of kneecaps.</p><p>He and half a dozen of Spadaro’s men are hiding between the trees, high up on the hill, looking down on the cluster of half-ruined buildings. The empty rhydonium truck has stopped, its front engine smoking, and he can already see bodies lying on the dusty ground, black silhouettes against the white. It smells of ozone and blaster discharge and charred flesh, and the Force feels bruised, like a half-rotten piece of fruit. </p><p>The woman he’s been told is Kawa’s second hiding behind one of the windows—he shoots off her hat, and is then hit with a wave of pure malevolence, untrained but tangible, so strong it fills his mouth with bile.</p><p>She must be Force sensitive—he shutters down his shields, just in case, and keeps shooting, focusing his attention somewhere else.</p><p>And then he hears the roar of a jetpack, and something barrels into him from up high.</p><p>Fett, or whoever it is under thebuy’ce, grabs him by the waist and then fucking drops him over the ruins. It wouldn't be an issue if Obi-Wan wasn’t undercover, but he is, so he clenches his jaw and rolls when he hits the ground, rifle lost somewhere between the hill and the drop.</p><p>The impact jars his brain, and for a few, precious seconds he can’t even think. Fett’s first shot grazes his right arm, and he shakes off the confusion, the pain, and rolls again—he unholsters his own blaster and shoots back.</p><p>Fett weaves up high over the half-broken roofs, and the few shots that hit ping off the beskar. Obi-Wan curses, blinking dust and sweat and more than a bit of blood off his eyes, and retreats into the building at his back.</p><p>It once was an office—most of the electronics are gone, but the desks are still there. Obi-Wan, perfectly aware of the fact that the Mando’s buy’ce may be able to detect him anyway, chooses one far away from the door and crouches behind it.</p><p>If Spadaro asked him to kill the Mandalorian, it might be possible Kawa asked the same thing from the bounty hunter.</p><p>Perhaps he should have been more discreet the previous day.</p><p>Something rolls through the open door, and the Force blares in his mind. Obi-Wan opens his eyes wide, and jumps out of the way. When the thermal detonators explode, he’s already on the other side of the room.</p><p>He can hear Fett prowling outside, his heavy boots crunching over the dirt—the battle still goes on around the complex, but the bounty hunter ignores it. He feels cold and calm and still, like the underground lakes deep in Ilum’s caves. Obi-Wan breathes in deep, counts to four, exhales slowly. The pain recedes, and his hands stop trembling. </p><p>He holsters his gun and grabs one of his vibroblades.</p><p>The office building is like a long, narrow shoebox, full of tumbled down chairs and desks and old filing cabinets. It’s dark, especially compared to the day’s white brightness. Fett enters carefully, Westars raised. He sweeps the room methodically, inch by inch. Obi-Wan, next to one of the windows and hidden behind the rare upright cabinet, just waits. And waits. His mind’s blank—he feels at peace. His body already knows what to do, the Force like a guiding hand on his back.</p><p>Fett is fast, but Obi-Wan is faster. For once that’s enough.</p><p>The thing about actual, real <em>beskar’gam</em> is that it is as hardy and impervious as the stories say. You can shoot at it, slash at it—it’ll repel or absorb pretty much everything you throw at it.</p><p>However, beskar is also heavy, so while hitting beskar won’t do much, you don’t actually have to.</p><p>Obi-Wan ignores the blasters, drops down and manages to sweep Fett’s feet from under him. The man falls and rolls, faster than any human being should be while carrying thirty kilos of beskar and a jetpack and Force knows what else. But Obi-Wan is faster. He jumps on him, vibroblade pointed downwards in the direction of the vulnerable stretch of fabric between his chestplate and his left pauldron.</p><p>Fett twists in the last moment, however, and then Obi-Wan’s back hits the dirty ground with another jarring impact that once again rattles his teeth in his mouth and his brain in his skull. If he manages to get off this karking moon without losing more braincells he’ll drink himself stupid with Quinlan. </p><p>The smell of fuel hits his nose. Fett raises his left arm, his right one pushing down on his windpipe, and Obi-Wan remembers about Mandos and flamethrowers. He twists, gets his feet between them, and knees the other man in that tender place between crotch and leg, right between armour plates.</p><p>Fett grunts, and moves just enough Obi-Wan manages to kick him off himself, the flamethrower sputtering uselessly over his head and charring his hair. </p><p>Obi-Wan coughs, his throat sore, and advances again. </p><p>Fett’s fast. He also fights smart. He avoids the slashes that he can, and the rest he lets hit where he knows they’ll do the least harm—his vambraces, usually, his karking<em> helmet</em> once. Somehow, Obi-Wan manages to actually tag him twice—first on his right leg, a long red line over his dirty flightsuit, and then low on the ribs, on the same side—and then Fett starts to take him seriously.</p><p>His jetpack turns on with an already familiar roar, and then Obi-Wan’s flying across the room, his weapon clenched in a white-knuckled grip and Fett’s arms like durasteel around his waist.</p><p>He breaks a window with his back, feels the glass shards rain down the insides of his jacket, cut the tender skin of his neck, under his hair—he stabs down blindly, blinking his eyes to clear them of blood and dust, and manages to rupture something. The jetpack sputters, stops, and then they roll, up and down, until they crash against the hard ground. </p><p>Obi-Wan loses his blade—he has no time to look for it, so he rolls off Fett, still half-blind and so dizzy he can’t see straight, and unholsters his blaster, rubbing uselessly at his eyes with his other hand.</p><p>Fett has lost his helmet. </p><p>He looks baseline human, a few years older than Obi-Wan, dark-haired and dark-eyed. His wide brown face is scarred but still handsome, and bright red blood drips down from his nose and stains his chestplate. When he sees Obi-Wan looking, he curses under his breath and raises his vambraces. Even without the beskar, his Force presence is muted, locked down tight under shielding that’d be impressive even for a trained Force sensitive. </p><p>“Hello,” Obi-Wan says. His throat hurts. He clears it, tries again. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”</p><p>The man snarls. He’s angry, but his focus doesn’t waver. His helmetis close to him, to his left, and his left hand twitches—he keeps the right arm raised. Obi-Wan eyes the bulky vambrace, suspicious—he doesn’t want to find out what Fett’s keeping there.</p><p>For a beat, they stay like that—Obi-Wan on one side, blaster raised, the midday sun hitting down on his head, sweat mingling with blood under his jacket, and Fett on the other, still half-kneeling, arm raised and face naked, his brown skin shocking against the dull, dusty metal of his blue and silver beskar’gam.</p><p>Something explodes at Obi-Wan’s back, and he flinches. It doesn’t exactly distract him, but Fett doesn’t hesitate—he takes his shot, and Obi-Wan drops down, whatever it is whistling over his head before hitting a wall and exploding. </p><p>When he looks up, exhausted and still half-blind and with his ears ringing, the Mandalorian is already gone.</p><p>*</p><p>The only thing Jango wants is to do is go upstairs to see his son. It’s still early, the sun high up in the sky, but he’ll be bored to death and worried.</p><p>When they limp back after the failed ambush, however, he goes directly to his quarters, ignoring Calanta’s frustrated snarl.</p><p>His buy’ce back on his head. </p><p>They did see his face, but the man—the bounty hunter—had. Jango puts him out of his mind. He’s exhausted, and his whole body hurts, the wounds the man had managed to inflict on him pulsing weakly. The one on his torso has stopped bleeding, but the one on his leg still drips. He feels faint, cold. Not for the first time, he thinks he might be getting too old for this kind of thing. </p><p>His quarters in Kawa’s complex don’t deserve such a name, but Jango has done with less, with worse. The place is relatively clean, with a single round window high up on the wall and a lonely, dusty bulb that hangs from the ceiling that sometimes flickers. Its yellowish, weak light will make the patch-up job—both on his flight suit and himself—harder than it needs to be, but again: Jango’s dealt with worse. </p><p>He doesn’t have bacta, or a dermal mender, or anything so advanced, but he doesn’t bother asking for one. He locks the flimsy door and takes off his beskar’gam, his kute. The armour he leaves on the floor; the kute he lies on the bed. He’ll have to patch up the holes later. </p><p>There’s a closet-sized fresher, with a durasteel toilet and a bucket that passes for a sink. There’s no hot water, but the filters work, are slightly better than the ones in the main building, and when he turns on the tap the water is cold but clean. He cleans the blood off his face and his leg, washes away the dust and the sweat, his mind quiet, calm.</p><p>He’ll get angry, later. With himself and with Kawa and with the whole karking galaxy. Not now, though—he’s got work to do.</p><p>His thoughts return to the man. It’s been a long time since he fought someone that good—he doesn’t think he remembers. Years. </p><p>It took him by surprise. It shouldn’t. He cannot afford it.</p><p>Jango doesn’t punch the mirror. He stays where he is, standing up inside the tiny fresher, his bare feet cold on the dirty floor. He grabs the sink, clenches his fingers until they’re white and the wound on his side pulses, starts bleeding once again. </p><p>He breathes. In and out, and again, and again. The fury and the fear recede—they don’t disappear, and he knows he’ll have to deal with them later. </p><p>*</p><p>Boba’s there when he steps into what Jango has come to think as the farmhouse’s main room. It isn’t—many years ago, Jango lived in a place very much like this one, and he still remembers how those are supposed to feel. It’s not like this. </p><p>This place is long and narrow, and it fills the ground floor of the building. Once upon a time, it must have smelled of dried grain, maybe, of warm animal blood and sweat and nerf dung. </p><p>Now it stinks of drink and unwashed bodies, despite the wide open window with its broken panes and the fact that it’s mostly empty.</p><p>Boba is there, though, standing upright next to one of Kawa’s guards, a Twi’lek woman who looks incredibly uncomfortable, her pale blue lekku twitching anxiously under her headscarf. Kawa is next to the window, her arms crossed. </p><p>When Boba sees him, he glances at the Zabrak and, at her nod, runs to Jango. He immediately kneels down, and his son hits him like the galaxy’s smallest missile. He hurts, he’s tired, and he’s lost blood, but Jango doesn’t even think about not lifting him in his arms. He leans his buy’ceagainst his son’s forehead, and Boba closes his eyes.</p><p>He looks tired. He’s too thin and pale, and dirty—his wild black curls are matted and tangled. </p><p>“Boba wanted to see you,” Kawa says. For once, she sounds almost rational, stable. She must be angry. “Didn’t you, kid?”</p><p>“‘<a id="return1" name="return1"></a>Lek, buir,<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup>” Boba answers. Jango can’t help but smile under his helmet—his kid’s clever. He hasn’t spoken a word of Basic since they were caught.</p><p>Calanta is also there. She has a bacta patch over her face, and another peeks under her shirt—she was caught in that final explosion. She’s frowning slightly, pain and something else, and her gaze is distant—she looks lost in thought.</p><p>Kawa doesn’t say anything. She just looks at Jango, her green eyes bright in the room’s cool darkness.</p><p>Jango kneels down and sets Boba back on the floor. The kid scowls, and doesn’t let go of his neck. </p><p>“<a id="return2" name="return2"></a>Gedet’ye, ad’ika,<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup>” Jango says. The boy doesn’t budge. “Boba.” </p><p>In his peripheral vision, he can see the Twi’lek look away. </p><p>If she doesn’t like having to watch this kind of thing, she should have chosen a different line of work.</p><p>“<a id="return3" name="return3"></a>Copaan yaim,<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup>” Boba says. Jango sighs. He gently pulls his son’s arms off his neck, hating himself all the way. </p><p>*</p><p>It’s been two days, but the view from Spadaro’s brothel’s roof is already familiar. Obi-Wan shivers under his jacket. His ribs hurt—he almost cracked a couple during the fight against Fett, but it could be worse: he could be dead.</p><p>He sighs—he’s exhausted. </p><p>He keys in Anakin’s code into his comm. Anakin answers after a beat.</p><p>“Hey, master,” he says. “You’re later than I’d thought. How’s everything? You feel... off.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Anakin. Things have been… complicated today.”</p><p>Obi-Wan spent half an hour under Spadaro’s medic droid tender mercies, and then another two being sucked up to. Apparently, the fact that he was able to even survive one bout against the Mandalorian has made him into a small celebrity. </p><p>After fighting the man, Obi-Wan understands why, even if it’s the opposite of what he wanted. He can’t help but feel proud of the fact that he not only did survive, he almost fought Fett to a draw. Without his lightsaber, even.</p><p>“Complicated how?” Anakin sounds suspicious. Obi-Wan sighs, and brushes a hand through his hair. It took him quite a long time to remove all of the glass.</p><p>“Master?” </p><p>“Nothing important, just… unexpected,” he finally answers. Today’s been hard, harder than he had thought it would be, and he still has no idea of how to get them out of the moon, how to disable those cannons, how to return home. “How’re the repairs going?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m done.”</p><p>“And the—?”</p><p>“I’m… almost done. Will be finished tomorrow, I think,” and then, because his Padawan hasn’t let go of anything in his short life, “What did you mean by complicated, Obi-Wan?”</p><p>For a beat, Obi-Wan is tempted to just turn off the comm. He really doesn’t have the energy to deal with his padawan’s questions so late in the night, after the day he’s had. </p><p>But he can hear the teenager’s worry over the comm, feel it pulsing weakly through their bond, stretched thin as it is, so he sighs and gives in. He tells Anakin about Spadaro’s plot to ambush Kawa’s men, about the old mines and the droids that now work there. He makes him laugh, somehow, when he tells him about the old Toydarian medic and his awful, old-fashioned droid. </p><p>When Obi-Wan narrates his fight against Fett, Anakin listens attentively, quiet for once, and Obi-Wan can feel his awe through the bond, his pride in his master. He has no idea what he’s done to deserve such a thing. </p><p>“A Mandalorian? A real Mandalorian?” Anakin asks. “They used to… when I lived with, with my mom. They did jobs for Gardulla sometimes. They were terrifying. And you <em>won</em>?”</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts. “Not exactly. I survived, that’s different.”</p><p>“Wizard. And you would have won, right? If you had your lightsaber.” </p><p>“Maybe.” </p><p>Anakin huffs, unconvinced. And it’s late, so very late, and the longer Obi-Wan stays out there, the higher the possibility he’ll be caught is, but he’s been able to feel Anakin’s anxiety through the bond the whole day.  </p><p>It may have been one of the Order’s biggest failures of the past few years, but it also makes for a very good story—Anakin listens with rapt attention while Obi-Wan tells him about Jango Fett and Galidraan and the Mandalorian Civil War. </p><p>Obi-Wan knows of a Jango Fett. He was supposed to have died on Galidraan, almost fifteen years ago—he was the last Mand’alor. If the person under the <em>beskar’gam</em> is actually Jango Fett, things might get difficult.</p><p>It’s been years since he even had to think about Mandalore, and Obi-Wan’s forgotten most of the details, but he remembers enough: he begins with Jaster Mereel’s True Mandalorians, explains that Mereel was once <em>Mand’alor</em>, that he died when Fett was barely a teen. He tells Anakin about the Death Watch, about its role in the war and their vendetta against Mereel and the rest of his faction, the True Mandalorians, and of his own involvement with them when he was his padawan’s age. </p><p>He finishes with Galidraan. He explains that it was a trap, set by the Death Watch and Galidraan’s governor, and then elaborates on the Jedi Order’s own role: how they, led by lies and their own prejudices, massacred most of Fett’s faction. He tells Anakin—in an effort to make his padawan understand just how dangerous Jango Fett actually is—that the man killed four knights and two senior padawans with his bare hands.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Anakin says when he stops talking, “he would have kicked your ass, master.”</p><p>“Well,” Obi-Wan begins, “maybe, but— “</p><p>Anakin just laughs at him. While Obi-Wan can’t help but feel slightly insulted, it’s worth it.</p><p>A few minutes later they say goodbye, and soon Anakin’s fallen asleep, his troubled dreams reaching Obi-Wan through the bond despite the distance. He goes back to his dingy little room, lies down on his dingy little bed, and thinks about the things he’s chosen to keep from his Padawan.</p><p>Like how hurt he actually is, or how close he came to actually losing his fight against Fett.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango wakes every day at the same hour, hours before the sun breaks over the horizon. His little room back out in the outbuilding gets cold at night, but the outside is colder, and sometimes he finds the inner durasteel walls wet with condensation. He usually sleeps in his kute, and he thinks that’s the only reason he has yet to freeze to death. </p><p>The flight suit is starting to smell ripe, but it’s that or never waking up ever again or losing a couple fingers to hypothermia, so Jango deals with it. The same way he deals with the small bed or his son’s absence or the womp rat nest he found the first night right under the mattress.</p><p>Sometimes they make him do things for Kawa. He’s ordered to lead raids along with Calanta, or keep watch on the mines, or go to the spaceport and make himself visible, the familiar silhouette of his ship always the tantalizing promise of freedom.</p><p>They grabbed Boba right after he declined Kawa’s first offer of employment, if the way the Zabrak had tried to bribe him with the promise of wealth and fame—two things he had proved more than capable of getting on his own—could be called that. Jango had left his son in the ship, aware of the fact that the child liked exploring and that he interpreted orders and rules more as guidelines than anything else. He had told Boba to stay put and to not go near strangers—Boba had gotten bored of waiting for him to return to the ship and had decided to find Jango himself.</p><p>And the thing is, Jango can’t even get mad at him. Boba is five, he’s barely been off of Kamino, and he’s always lived with the certainty that his father’s reputation is more than enough to keep him safe. His childhood isn’t what one would consider normal, but he’s always known that he is loved and that Jango would kill half the galaxy just to keep him safe.</p><p>Jango got comfortable. He’d been on his own for so long he’d forgotten how to function with somebody else to protect. He was aware of the possibility that someone like Kawa could come along and use the boy as a hostage, as a threat, as a way of securing his body and his brain and his reputation as an agent of violence—but until two weeks ago he had been aware of that in the same way he knew there are more worlds beyond the edges of Wild Space. </p><p>He won’t make that mistake again.</p><p>There is no kitchen in the complex. The main house must have had one, but someone ripped it out years before anyone moved back in. The place is a ruin, half-empty and full of vermin and air currents. Most of Kawa’s people live there, in the upper floors—Jango is staying in one of the few outbuildings that have yet to completely fall down.</p><p>It reminds him of his parents’ farm, back on Concord Dawn; and there is a reason he hasn’t been back there in more than thirty years.</p><p>He gets out of his cot, washes his face, takes a piss, and then trains, half-dehydrated and dizzy with hunger, for almost an hour, until the small room stinks of sweat.</p><p>Afterwards, he washes off what he can in the small sink in the ‘fresher, shivering in the cold, dresses again and suits up. Kawa keeps a crate full of out of date ration bars in one of the ground floor rooms, and he usually grabs a couple, as well as a water pouch, that he eats back in his room.</p><p>By then, the rest of the complex has already woken up, and his son is awake as well, and waiting for him by the window. </p><p>Jango stays there, like a silent guardian, as long as he can. Sometimes he has to leave—sometimes, heads need breaking and rhydonium needs stealing or Kawa gets bored and wants him there to insult and abuse, but he always returns. The only thing that can keep him from Boba would be death; he’s told this to his child more than once, has sworn it to him in his mind, in his heart.</p><p>And he may have broken most of the promises he made to his own buir, to his friends and comrades, but this one, Jango intends to keep.</p><p>*</p><p>The sun is half-way to its place high up in the sky, and Jango has been there, under the window, for almost two hours. His feet and his knees hurt, but he refuses to move. Boba hasn’t moved either in all that time, and Jango knows he’s not comfortable.</p><p>The noise of speeders coming into the complex catches his attention. He tilts his head in their direction, curious despite himself; he didn’t realise they went out the previous night—they must have been out there, on the empty fields and craggy hills and the brush, for hours. </p><p>Their riders file down into the house while he watches. Most of them barely look at him, and for once it is less fear than pure exhaustion. They are dusty and sweating and pale, and they share the too-bright eyes of one who’s been awake for too long on a combination of stims and death sticks.</p><p>Jango frowns. Kawa must have sent them out last night in search of something—whatever it was they were looking for, they never found it. It’s not Jango’s problem yet, but that’s just a matter of time.</p><p>He sighs. When he looks back to Boba, his child smiles at him, waves with one small hand. </p><p>Boba won’t see it through his buy’ce, but Jango smiles back.</p><p>*</p><p>“So this is the spaceport,” Obi-Wan looks around himself. It’s small, dirty, and it’s not very busy—exactly the kind of place he would expect of somewhere like Tchuta-1. Most of the bays are empty, but the building behind the hangar is heavily guarded.</p><p>That must be where the control room is.</p><p>“How did you get here?” his partner asks. He’s another Human, shorter than him and also older, with a nose that’s been broken more than once and long, yellow nails. He told Obi-Wan he’s lived there, on the colony, for almost twenty years, that he arrived to work as a miner before the Hutts bought the company.</p><p>When the rest of the workers left, he stayed. He doesn’t say why, and Obi-Wan doesn’t ask.</p><p>“A ship. Like everybody else,” he replies, smiling. The man frowns, clearly confused, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let him keep talking. “And I guess those are the warehouses.” He nods in the direction of a line of grey, pre-fab duracrete buildings.</p><p>There are battle droids, old and beat-up but well-armed patrolling the grounds. Even if there is no way of getting the rhydonium off the moon without regaining control of the spaceport, the Twi’lek is determined to act as if nothing has happened.</p><p>“You guess right,” the Human says. He told Obi-Wan his name, and it takes more effort than it should to remember. Anto. Middle Rim accent, missing most of his teeth and his right ear. Nosier and chattier than Obi-Wan would like, but not bad company—at least for now. “Have any experience with this kind of work?”</p><p>Obi-Wan shrugs. When Anto jumps from the speeder, he follows him, grimacing when his still tender bruises complain. </p><p>“Some,” he says. He actually does. He’s guarded people and buildings before—he’s never done it for money or on some gangster’s behalf, though. “Why? Anything I should know?”</p><p>The man glances at him from under his wide brimmed hat. Obi-Wan’s seen a lot of those since he got to Tchuta-1, and he understands why. The sun is high up on the sky and beating down on his uncovered head, and he’s pretty sure he’s burning his face again. </p><p>“It’s usually pretty calm,” Anto harrumphs and spits a big, green phlegm to the ground. “A lot of sittin’ around and lookin’ at nothin’. Do you play sabbacc?”</p><p>“I do, but not very well,” Obi-Wan answers, and the man smiles, big and slightly feral. He claps his shoulder with one wide, hard hand that rattles Obi-Wan’s teeth in his mouth.</p><p>“Oh, don’t you worry about that, kid,” he replies. </p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t sigh, but it’s a near thing. The man’s glee resonates in the Force.</p><p>The warehouses sit a couple hundred meters away from the actual spaceport. The buildings themselves are enclosed by a high duracrete wall capped with barbed wire, and in front of the main gate there are two active portable turrets. Anto waves, and the Latero that’s keeping guard there waves back. They’re wearing a long, dark leatheris duster despite the heat, and the blaster they grab with two of their four hands is almost as big as them.</p><p>“Reppie, my man!” Anto says. The Latero sighs and shakes his head. “How are things?”  </p><p>“Exactly like they were when you were here last,” Reppie answers. He’s grey-skinned and grey-haired, and when he comes closer to Anto and Obi-Wan, he moves easily over the dirt road. Obi-Wan finds himself completely unable to guess his actual age. “Who’s this?”</p><p>“My new partner,” Anto grabs Obi-Wan by the shoulder and pulls at him until he has to step between him and the Latero. “Ben, this is Repo. He cheats at cards and loses anyway, but beyond that, you can trust him.”</p><p>Repo rolls his eyes, and keeps glaring at Obi-Wan. He’s seen the marks of his fight against Fett. “Doesn’t look like much. Where did the boss find him?”</p><p>“Oh, that’s a mystery,” Anto says. “But yesterday he fought Fett to a standstill, so I don’t think I care.”</p><p>“Really.” The Latero’s hard to read—his natural shields are stronger than Anto’s, and all Obi-Wan can sense is a general feeling of distrust.</p><p>“I got lucky,” he intervenes, “as you probably can see on my face.”</p><p>Repo sniffs, and Anto shakes his head. He sighs.</p><p>“That enough for you, you guard dog?” he asks the Latero. “We’re on the clock.”</p><p>Repo rolls his eyes. There is a control panel next to the metal door, and he turns his back to them and introduces a passcard inside. The machine beeps, and then, with a groaning, screeching metallic noise, the door begins to move. </p><p>“Make yourselves comfortable,” the Latero says. He looks to Obi-Wan, “and don’t play sabacc with this fucker. He <em>will</em> fleece you.”</p><p>*</p><p>There are three warehouses, and two of them are already full to the brim with barrels upon barrels of unrefined fuel. Obi-Wan is handed an old, half-rusted rifle and is told to patrol the place. He shares this duty with a dozen of repurposed battledroids that bring back bad memories of Naboo and Qui-Gon and the fight against the Sith, but they <em>do</em> make the job easier.</p><p>The place is gigantic. He walks around, sweating bullets under his jacket, his feet swollen, and drinks from his canteen, and meanwhile the sun keeps rising and so does the heat. </p><p>It’s mindnumbingly boring. Obi-Wan walks and he drags the karking rifle with him. Sometimes he crosses paths with one of the droids; other times, with Anto, who to his shock is actually working, and looks as tired and sick of the job as Obi-Wan feels.</p><p>He tries to use the time to do some moving meditation, but he’s too uncomfortable, too anxious, and his concentration keeps slipping. Over the wall he can see the top of the building where he guesses the control room is, and sometimes he can feel the vibrations of ships taking off. </p><p>Obi-Wan was told that Kawa attacked the spaceport first—she took the technicians hostage, made sure she controlled the orbital cannons, and only after she was sure they wouldn’t slip from her control, she tried to take the brothel.</p><p>It held. Both sides lost men, but Spadaro lost more. Kawa may be impatient and rash, but she planned the takeover well. Two weeks later, things haven’t changed much. She still controls the spaceport, Spadaro keeps his hold on the warehouse complex and the big mine to the west. The Hutts aren’t yet an issue, although Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt they already know what’s going on. They probably are waiting to see which one they’d rather help; from what he’s seen, Obi-Wan is half-sure they’ll end up backing Kawa. </p><p>He doesn’t know where the cannons are, exactly. There’s more than one. While he walks eternal circles around the warehouses, he plays with the idea of finding them, and disabling them however he can. There’s rhydonium as well as actual explosives in the mines: how hard can it be to sabotage an orbital cannon?</p><p>Maybe, if he were alone, he’d risk it—but he isn’t. Anakin is fourteen and under his protection. </p><p>Noon has come and gone when Anto approaches him. He smells of alcohol but walks straight, and when he sees Obi-Wan, the man laughs out loud, the sound hoarse and wheezy.</p><p>“God, kid, you look like you’ve got radiation sickness,” he says. “Don’t you have a hat?”</p><p>“Forgot to pack one,” Obi-Wan snaps back. “Did you want something?”</p><p>The Human snorts. “It’s lunchtime, kid. Follow me.”</p><p>Obi-Wan shoulders his rifle and does. Anto takes them to the third warehouse. Next to it there is another small, pre-fab building, slightly newer than the rest of the spaceport but exactly as dirty and grimy. Obi-Wan follows him back inside. On the other side of its door, he can see a small room. It smells of old food and tabac smoke, but there’s a small kitchen, a fresher, and a low round table next to the corner. It’s still too warm for Obi-Wan’s taste, but not as much as it is outside.</p><p>The Latero, Repo, is already there. Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows, but keeps quiet, and does as Anto and leaves both his jacket and his weapon next to the door. </p><p>They sit around the low table and eat some rehydrated rations that are not as bad as Obi-Wan expected, and afterwards he drinks his weight in filtered water that still tastes of chemicals. </p><p>“What’s wrong with your face?” Repo asks him when they’re finishing. Anto chokes on a mouthful of food and begins to cough. Obi-Wan sighs. His face hurts.</p><p>“The sun is too strong,” he explains, “and I burn easily.”</p><p>The Latero scoffs, unimpressed, and keeps chewing. He’s sitting next to Obi-Wan at the low table. He was the one who prepared the rations, even though his and theirs are different—apparently, Lateros do not share dietary requirements with most humanoids. It smells strange; not bad, just different. </p><p>“I think there’s a hat somewhere in a drawer,” he says. Repo hits Anto with one of his free hands, and the Human jumps, glares at him. “You should have looked.”</p><p>“Maybe. I didn’t think. Sorry, kid,” he mumbles. He sounds embarrassed.</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks, confused and more than a bit surprised. </p><p>“Oh, it won’t be necessary,” he says. He doesn’t know how he feels about all this—he didn’t expect something like this from them. They are crooks and thugs, after all; he’s seen enough of the galaxy to know that decency is a rare thing.</p><p>Anto chuckles. He’s been smoking non-stop since they sat down to eat, and the smoke of his cigarra sticks to Obi-Wan’s throat, to his nose, and makes his voice hoarse.</p><p>“Kid, your face looks bad enough,” Anto says. He takes a sip of his drink. “Fett really did a number on you.”</p><p>Obi-Wan looks down. He’s been trying to give the impression that he got lucky, that the only reason he survived was because Fett and the rest of his group were given orders to fall back. Most of them have bought it—after all, Fett is a legend and he is a nobody. </p><p>Some of them, however, seem to believe that he is as good as he actually is. It’s good for his pride, and also very inconvenient.</p><p>“I got lucky,” he says, and the Latero laughs out loud, harsh and deep but not cruel.</p><p>“Well I wouldn’t want to see your face if you had been unlucky,” he replies, and when Anto begins to laugh, Obi-Wan doesn’t find it hard to join in. </p><p>Anto finds him a hat when they finish eating, something too big and dusty and with a suspicious stain right over Obi-Wan’s forehead. </p><p>He puts it on anyways and, not for the first time, he’s glad Anakin is not there to see him. </p><p>*</p><p>The shifts are six hours long, and Obi-Wan is finally getting closer to the end of his when he hears someone yelling. Immediately afterwards an explosion makes the ground tremble. The sun is still pretty high up in the sky, and he’s on the other side of the complex, but he half-runs, half-walks to the place where the noise is coming from, flanked by some of the battledroids. </p><p>When he gets to the gate, Repo is already on the ground; he’s still alive, his Force signature flickering weakly, but he’s bleeding heavily, and he appears to be unconscious. The right turret is still shooting, but the left one is just a smoking mess of metal and glass. Obi-Wan curses under his breath. The attackers are yelling over the noise of the turret’s shots, and everything smells of blaster discharge.</p><p>It seems Kawa decided to send some of her people to the warehouse, like Spadaro predicted. Obi-Wan can feel them in the Force: four beings, three men and one woman. They are on the other side of the little street that separates the complex from the spaceport proper, hiding inside one of the houses and behind the smoking ruins of what he recognises with a jolt as the speeder they took to get there, and while he looks, one of them—Rodian, green skinned and fast, very fast—moves from behind the speeder and lobs something to the still shooting turret.</p><p>The explosion shakes the whole place. Even hidden as he is behind the reinforced durasteel gate, Obi-Wan can feel the heat, the vibrations—a second later, the turret explodes as well, and that one makes him stumble. </p><p>When Anto appears at his elbow Obi-Wan comes very close to putting a blaster bolt in him. The other Human doesn’t notice, too busy staring worriedly through the window.</p><p>“He’s got the keycard,” Anto says. His voice is trembling. “If they take it, we’re fucked.”</p><p>“He’s still alive,” Obi-Wan answers. “Open the gate.”</p><p>“What? You’re mad.”</p><p>“They’re four, we’re twenty four, and they are only attacking the complex from this direction. We’ll be fine,” replies Obi-Wan. “Open the damn gate.”</p><p>He turns his back to the other man and approaches the droids. </p><p>They’re old models, years past their prime. Their chassis are old, the paint long gone, and Tchuta-1’s pale dust and corrosive atmosphere haven’t been kind to them.</p><p>“Form four lines of six each in front of the gate,” he tells them. All of the droids charged with guarding the warehouses are there, and while he doesn’t like the idea of having all of them in the same place, he guesses it can’t be helped. “When I give you the order, start marching.”</p><p>A chorus of “Roger, roger” answers him. Obi-Wan turns back to Anto.</p><p>“Stay on the other side of the door. When the droids begin to move, stay behind them. They’ll flush them out.”</p><p>Anto just blinks at him. “What?”</p><p>Obi-Wan breathes in and exhales his breath. He tries to be patient—it‘d be easier if he couldn’t feel the Latero’s life fading away. </p><p>“Stay behind the wall and open the door. They will attack the droids. When they do, you and I will pick them out one by one,” he tells him again. He grabs the other man’s shoulder, shakes him, tries to keep himself in his sight. “Alright? Come on, Anto. We’ve the upper hand. It’ll be fine.”</p><p>The man nods. He’s terrified, but he obeys, clearly glad that someone has taken charge of the situation. Obi-Wan takes his place on the other side of the gate.</p><p>Anto opens the gate. When he tells them to, the droids begin to march, and as Obi-Wan predicted, the four attackers get out of their hiding places. It would have been easier and smarter to just stay where they were, but they are not soldiers—they are brawlers and thieves and bandits and thugs. They know violence, they are good at it, but they do not know <em>how </em>it works.</p><p>But Obi-Wan does. </p><p>Afterwards, he takes off the hat kneels by the Latero’s side, trying to keep the man alive while the other Human goes to call for help and corrals back the surviving B1 droids.</p><p>The next shift arrives shortly after with an extra speeder, and half an hour later he’s back in his little room in the brothel, washing blue-green blood off his hands.</p><p>*</p><p>A few hours later, Obi-Wan drops soundlessly from the window of his new room. It’s late, but there’s still activity in the place’s ground floor, and so he sticks to the wall for a beat or two, tense and shivering. The temperature dropped once the sun disappeared from the sky, and he can see his breath every time he exhales.</p><p>The Jedi closes his eyes and lets the Force comfort and guide him. It tells him that almost everyone is asleep in the little settlement, and that the ones still awake are too high, too drunk or too preoccupied to pay any mind to what may happen on the other side of their windows. It follows the starving tooka that waits under one of the upended garbage cans when it gets tired of waiting and disappears around the corner, and then changes directions, pulses in the direction of the street where he saw the Mando bounty hunter two days ago.</p><p>He asked Spadaro’s people about him—nobody else but Obi-Wan has seen his face, but they are sure he is Jango Fett; in the two weeks that have passed since his arrival he’s managed to terrify most of them.</p><p>Obi-Wan knows he’s good, but he’s also pretty sure he’s not that good. Especially without his lightsaber.</p><p>He needs to know more—he needs to make sure.</p><p>Obi-Wan sticks to the walls and makes his way to the little street. It leads towards the limits of the small settlement, and at the end of it there’s Kawa’s big farmhouse. There are lights in the windows, and when he tries to get closer the metal muzzle of a blaster glints, and he freezes. Obi-Wan closes his eyes, reaches out with his mind once again.</p><p>He can feel sentients, most of them asleep or drunk or something in between; he also finds the woman from the previous day, asleep but alert. There’s a bright presence that feels worryingly like a child, and then the muffled void that might be Fett, still muffled by his <em>beskar’gam</em>. </p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. For an instant, he’s tempted to go back to the brothel, to his borrowed room with its narrow bed. It’s late, and he’s tired, and he has the feeling that the next day will be at least as difficult as the one that just ended.</p><p>But the Force is leading him in the direction of the house—its pull feels like smoke in his nose, in his mouth, in his chest. It tastes of ozone and metal and something else he’s unable to classify, that he does not yet know. </p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. And then, with a last look over his shoulder to Spadaro’s place, he jumps onto a nearby roof and begins to run on silent feet towards Kawa’s headquarters.</p><p>*</p><p>There’s a child in the complex. They sleep alone in a small, dirty room, and they’re having a nightmare. </p><p>The child’s anxiety fills Obi-Wan’s mouth, sharp and bitter. What are they doing there? Where’s their parent, their family? </p><p>There’s a guard on the other side of the door to the room, awake but distracted. They feel alert but tired, with a low thrum of tension underneath. Obi-Wan, holding from his hands from the narrow windowsill, lowers himself once again until he knows he won’t be seen from the inside.</p><p>He breathes in and, with a bit of help from the Force, pulls himself up until he can scramble back up to the roof. </p><p>Once there, he tries to catch his breath. His shoulders hurt: he rotates them trying to ignore the dull ache that spreads from the still healing scar on his arm while he thinks.</p><p>The place is well protected—he was almost caught more than once. The Mandalorian is nowhere to be seen, but he can feel him in one of the lower floors of the building, still wearing his armour, still very probably awake. He’s not alone. There’s music and voices coming from one of the rooms on that level—a party, maybe.</p><p>The kid’s wearing something that Obi-Wan recognised immediately as an explosive collar, big and wrong around their small neck. It’s been years since the last time he saw one or was made to wear one, but it’s not the kind of thing one forgets.</p><p>They’re obviously a hostage, but Obi-Wan cannot for the life of him decide whose leash they are meant to secure. The child’s Human, which takes the Hutts and most of Spadaro’s people out of the picture; another alternative is Fett, but as far as Obi-Wan knows he has no children. And that’s if the <em>Mando’ad</em> he saw and fought and barely survived against is actually him, and not another Mando <em>beroya </em>who’s using the name for clout. </p><p>It would explain what the fuck Fett’s doing on Tchuta-1, why he’s gotten involved in something as pedestrian as a gang war over a third-rate mining town.</p><p>At the same time, Obi-Wan finds it hard to believe—it sounds like the plot of a cheap holodrama. </p><p>Then again, his life has always kind of felt like that. Knowing his luck, the kid will be Fett’s.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He rises to his knees, and looks to the East—he can see the sun, slowly rising over the horizon. He’s tired—he needs to sleep at least for a couple hours, and then find somewhere where he can meditate and plot a plan of action.</p><p>A door opens, and a square of yellow light appears on the dirt. As if invoked by Obi-Wan’s musings, the Mandalorian steps out of the building, the light of the lamps shining off the beskar of his helmet. Fett—if it’s actually him—stops there for a beat, so still it is as if he were made of stone, of something beyond blood and flesh and bone. </p><p>The metal interferes with Obi-Wan’s sense of him in the Force, but the man’s close enough he can almost read him—fury, so sharp it stings his mouth, cut with fear, tightly controlled but heavy, like a chain around his neck.</p><p>Fett turns around and looks up—Obi-Wan scrambles back behind the low wall, his heart in his throat. Fett stays there, still and quiet and filled with a rage so bright it flows over his beskar, tinged with anxiety and longing.</p><p>And then he turns back around and begins to walk once again, his steps almost completely quiet on the dirt.</p><p>Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He leans his back against the wall, hits his head softly against the plaster.</p><p>Of course the child is Fett’s. Of course.</p><p>He waits five minutes, then another ten, counting the seconds in his head. Meanwhile, the sun slowly rises, far out in the east. Finally, Obi-Wan looks around himself, centres his thoughts, and jumps.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><a id="note1" name="note1"></a>1<sup>1</sup>Yes, dad.<sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup><br/><a id="note2" name="note2"></a>2<sup>2</sup>Please.<sup>[<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]</sup><br/><a id="note3" name="note3"></a>3<sup>3</sup>I want to go home.<sup>[<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</sup></p><p>see you on thursday!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Shuttle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello! check the end notes for this chapter's warnings (nothing too bad but i'm covering my bases).</p><p>and again: i usually don't answer comments but i read them all more than once like a crazy person. i'm very glad you're enjoying this story!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Obi-Wan spends so much time in the cantina that Gonji doesn’t even look up when he steps into the bar. Most of Spadaro’s men think he is strange—they do not understand why he spends so long with the old Ithorian. They leave him alone, though: Obi-Wan’s fight with Fett didn’t go unnoticed and the fact that Obi-Wan survived, that he managed to wound Fett, has made him interesting.</p><p>It makes Obi-Wan uncomfortable, even if a part of him can’t help but feel proud of himself, of the fact that he survived. </p><p>Obi-Wan nods to Gonji and then sits down on what by now he’s starting to think as his seat, on the far side of the bar, close to one of the windows and with a clear line of sight to the door. The bartender barely looks at him before putting a tall glass full of lukewarm beer in front of him. </p><p>Obi-Wan takes a cautious sip—at least this time it’s just beer. In the past few days, he’s began to know Gonji better. He’s not bad company—Obi-Wan likes him, even if his alcohol is shit.</p><p>Obi-Wan and Anakin have been on Tchuta-1 for almost a standard week. Anakin is still in the shuttle, surviving on ration bars and probably too much caf. He finished fixing the broken sublight engine a couple days ago, and has been absolutely unbearable since. </p><p>Obi-Wan understands—he even shares the feeling. He also wants to go back home, back to the Temple in Coruscant, where there are real water showers and actual food and zero Mandalorian children kept hostage by would-be Zabrak crime lords. </p><p>Anakin’s insistent whining, however, doesn’t make time pass by any faster, or help Obi-Wan in any other way whatsoever. At least he’s staying in the ship, although it’s a matter of time he decides to leave it to ‘help’ his master.</p><p>Obi-Wan is sure this was meant to be a trap, and very probably a trap for him, not for him and Anakin together—Anakin appeared with his bag and a very familiar stubborn frown on his face when Obi-Wan was already half-way up the shuttle’s ramp.</p><p>He should have made him turn back. Anakin spends very little time in the Temple as it is, and when he does, he’s on his own, with Obi-Wan or in class. In the few years that have passed since he joined the Order, he hasn’t made any close friends.</p><p>Obi-Wan worries. He doesn’t mind spending time with his Padawan, but children need friends their age, and five years later, Obi-Wan’s the closest thing to a friend Anakin has on Coruscant.</p><p>Well, Obi-Wan and the Chancellor, and isn’t that another can of worms Obi-Wan would rather not think about. </p><p>Gonji turns on the holoscreen. So far out in the Rim the signal is weak, but he finds a limmie game between Chandrilla and Corellia and for a while the white noise of the commentators’ voices fills the little bar. </p><p>The man lets him brood in peace. </p><p>It’s been a few days since the last time Obi-Wan was able to actually meditate, and between that, the stress of dealing with Spadaro and his men, the lack of progress, Anakin’s anxious whining, the Mando and his child, and the awful heat, well. One could say Obi-Wan misses it. </p><p>That’s why he’s there, sulking and drinking bad beer in a shitty bar in the middle of nowhere while some overexcited sportscaster babbles on and on about Corellia’s chances of winning the Inner Rim league. </p><p>Obi-Wan wants to believe that it’s just a matter of time before an Order craft approaches the system—they haven’t been able to send a message yet, and surely by now someone’ll have noticed.</p><p>The Ithorian clicks one of his mouths, and Obi-Wan raises his head and turns to look at him. Gonji has taken off his translator, and he’s looking through the open door. </p><p>There’s a group of Kawa’s men close to the narrow street that leads to her complex. It’s almost noon and the sun falls down heavy on their heads, glints off their dusty speeders. Obi-Wan can’t hear what they’re saying, but they look like they’re waiting for something. </p><p>Obi-Wan’s seen things like this more than once for the past week, but this time it’s different—the Force calls to Obi-Wan, thrumming with foreboding. </p><p>“Been making a lot of trips out to the cliffs lately,” Gonji says. The Ithorian made abundantly clear his opinion about Obi-Wan’s choice of employment and he usually avoids even mentioning the gangs at all. </p><p>“They have,” Obi-Wan agrees. </p><p>Obi-Wan sips his beer, his sight fixed on the little band. When Fett appears between them Obi-Wan’s not surprised. Like always, he tries to reach out to the bounty hunter with the Force—and, like always, the only thing Obi-Wan finds is a muted well of emotion. </p><p>Kawa’s men let Fett pass, making room for him without a word. Obi-Wan can taste their fear, their trepidation, in the back of his tongue. They are scared of Fett—they may respect him, but the feeling is weighed down by terror. </p><p>It should be harder than it is to reconcile the still, imposing warrior that he can see, silver and blue under the midday sun, with the man Obi-Wan remembers from his late night visit to the compound, but it really isn’t. </p><p>“Where’re they going?” Obi-Wan asks out loud. Gonji hums noncommittally. </p><p>Obi-Wan sets his glass quietly and ponders over the possibilities. There are no other settlements close by, and the spaceport is in the other direction, and Obi-Wan doubts they’ve planned another hit on the mines so soon. They’re too few, too lightly armed, and they would have made sure to avoid the street. </p><p>“Gonji,” Obi-Wan says. The Ithorian grunts in reply—he doesn’t look up from the dirty glass he’s cleaning with a rag. “Do you know if there’s some kind of vehicle I can borrow?”</p><p>*</p><p>Obi-Wan finds a speeder bike ten minutes later. It was in a shed close to Spadaro’s brothel, and it’s an old model, old even by the settlement’s standards. It takes him a few precious seconds to make the vehicle work, but it finally comes alive, and Obi-Wan pushes it around the house, perfectly aware of the watching eyes looking at him from the brothel’s windows. </p><p>By then, Fett and the rest of the group are pretty far away. They’re driving in the direction of the craggy hills Obi-Wan came from days ago. The cloud of dust that they leave behind is visible in the high noon sun, white and grey against the pale blue sky, and it’s so quiet that Obi-Wan can hear the rumble of their engines over the noise of his own bike. They roar away, shiny and chrome over the plain, and Obi-Wan makes himself wait for another five minutes before following them.</p><p>If they look back, they’ll see him, and if they do, he’ll be in trouble—but this is important. The Force is pinging at him—urging him to gogogogogo<em>go</em>—in a way he isn’t used to.</p><p>And it may be a coincidence, but he doesn’t like that they’re going toward the place where their ship’s hidden. If they find it, they’ll find Anakin, and Force knows what they’ll do to him. Anakin may be clever and brave and capable, but he’s also just a child.</p><p>Obi-Wan should have made Anakin stay in the Temple. But he could feel his padawan’s anxiety, his fear of not being enough—and Obi-Wan knows Anakin doesn’t feel comfortable on his own while he’s there, that he feels alone, that he’s lonely. And the mission was supposed to be easy, almost boring. </p><p>Rationally speaking, Obi-Wan couldn’t have known that things would go this wrong, but he can’t help it, he can’t help thinking that he should have forced his padawan to stay in the Temple, where he’d be safe, to focus on his schoolwork.</p><p>Not for the first time, Obi-Wan tells himself he’ll do better next time. That he’ll make sure there is a next time.</p><p>Obi-Wan squints under the brim of his borrowed hat against the glare of the sun. The day is hot, and he’s already sweating under his clothes, the sweat uncomfortable against his bandages and the half-healed scratches. </p><p>At least there are no buildings to be thrown against here. </p><p>Obi-Wan wishes he had his lightsaber. This would be so much easier if he had his lightsaber. </p><p>The ground starts to rise. Craggy cliffs, grey and pale brown, harsh against the soft blue sky. Low twisted trees and dark green shrubs grow on the slopes, ugly but hardy. They're oddly beautiful—they’re half-dead, but they cling to life with a stubbornness Obi-Wan can’t help but relate to.</p><p>A narrow, twisted road cuts through them, the way clearly made by artificial means and not long ago. The speeders follow it and soon disappear between the cliffs’ high walls. Obi-Wan stops. He’s still far away; he's reasonably sure he hasn’t been seen, but he doesn’t want to risk it. At the same time, he doesn’t like how close they’re getting to the little copse of trees where the shuttle is. Obi-Wan stops his bike, looks at its state, and then comes to a decision. </p><p>It’ll probably end badly, but it’s not as if Obi-Wan has another option. </p><p>*</p><p>Kawa wants Jango and the rest of his team to find a shuttle, an Eta-class two-person transport, a Republic ship that she had shot down almost a week ago, kill its pilot and secure its passenger.</p><p>The passenger’s a kid. Human boy, fair-skinned and blue-eyed, early teens. Jango was given a cursory description and then told to find him and take him back to the settlement—it was implied he was to be taken back unharmed.</p><p>Jango doesn’t know who the kid is—he doesn’t think Kawa knows either. Jango can’t say he cares. He’d rather not put him in danger, but between him and his own child, there’s no contest. There are not many things he wouldn’t do to keep Boba safe; handing another child to his own son’s captor is just one of them. Jango will make sure no harm comes to him, but that’s it.</p><p>They’re being followed. His buy’ce’s sensors detect a disturbance a few clicks back, but Jango keeps quiet. Whoever it is has taken their speeder high up to the ridge of the cliff at Jango’s right. The road that cuts through the hills is too narrow, and the walls are too tall—Jango can barely hear the noise of the other’s engine over his own and the buzzing of insects, and he can’t see them at all. But Jango knows they’re there, and he’s sure he isn’t the only one. One of the members of his small team is a tall Togruta male, and his montrals twitch, doubtlessly picking up the vibrations of the speeder’s engine despite the distance.</p><p>“We’re being followed,” the man says after a few minutes, his voice low. His skin is a dusty blue, and he’s covered his head with a pale yellow scarf. </p><p>The Human woman on Jango’s right grumbles and tries to stop her bike. </p><p>“Don’t stop,” Jango barks. She jumps and swerves before getting her vehicle under control, but obeys, looking at him from under her ratty blond fringe. Jango nods to the place where the cliff’s slope begins to soften. “Keep driving. We’ll wait for them behind those boulders.”</p><p>The woman scowls, but does as she’s told. Jango snarls. They’re a bunch of amateurs. Unruly, undisciplined, inexperienced.</p><p>Once they reach the boulders, Jango stops his bike behind the biggest one, and then lies down flat on the ground, making sure his armour won’t give him away by coating it on the pale, dry dust. </p><p>If he ever manages to get out of there, he’ll have to find some goran who doesn’t hate him to make sure that all the crap he’s putting his beskar‘gam through won’t leave permanent damage—dust is hell on electronics.</p><p>The rest of his team follow him. Jango ignores them and activates his HUD, clicks his tongue to turn on the sensors. The noise of the old speeder’s engine fills his helmet. As he thought, whoever it is is up on the ridge, using the height and the distance to try and hide his approach. </p><p>It may have worked, if Jango weren’t there.</p><p>“Quiet down,” Jango orders the rest of his team without looking at them. After a few minutes and a couple muttered curses, they comply. </p><p>The seconds tick by. Jango unholsters his Westars and clicks off the noise receptors of his buy’ce. He doesn’t need them anymore. </p><p>One of the women with him—the blue Twi’lek who’s guarded Boba more than once, the one his son doesn’t mind as much—has a huge blaster rifle hanging from her back. Jango glances at her. </p><p>“You,” he says. The woman jumps, and then turns to look at him. She looks as happy to be here as he is. Jango nods in the direction of her weapon. “Do you know how to use that?”</p><p>The woman blinks. She nods.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Jango jerks his head towards the road. The speeder’s close.</p><p>“Can you shoot the shabuir’s bike without harming them?”</p><p>The woman blinks, and then she smiles, cocky, just slightly nervous.</p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>The Togruta snorts and Jango ignores him. The woman leans her weapon on the surface of the boulder, breathes in deep, and then crouches down next to him, her knees on the ground and her arms stock still. </p><p>“Where do you want me to hit them?” she asks. Jango blinks. She’s not gloating—she really thinks she’s that good.</p><p>“I don’t want them dead,” Jango finally answers. She nods, and then they all fall quiet. </p><p>The seconds tick by, and the noise of the engine grows louder. The vehicle sounds like it is an old speeder bike, of low quality and badly cared for, and when it finally appears on the ridge, Jango sees his guess was right. </p><p>There’s a man on it. The sun is at his back, but the jacket is unmistakable. Jango scowls.</p><p>Of fucking course.</p><p>“I could kill him,” the Twi’lek says, her voice quiet and controlled. Jango glances at her. It certainly would make things easier for him. He sighs, careful to keep the sound contained, and then shakes his head.</p><p>“Hit the bike,” he says. “On my mark.”</p><p>The woman nods again. The Togruta at his back rattles an impatient snarl. The sound makes Jango’s hair stand on its end, but he ignores it. </p><p>The man stops the bike. He looks around himself, a frown on his face. He looks tired, pale. Jango zooms in with his buy’ce—there’s an impressive bruise on the stranger’s jaw. Jango feels a little thrill of satisfaction—he was the one who put it there.</p><p>The man scowls. He rubs his face, looks back, and then forward, towards the trees. Finally, his eyes fall on the boulders, next to the road. Jango and his men lower themselves, even the Twi’lek, her rifle hugged against her chest and her pale blue lekku rigid and dusty.</p><p>The stranger shouldn’t be able to see the marks of their own speeders down on the road from where he is, but the man has surprised him once already. He might. Jango nudges the Twi’lek with his foot, nods in the direction of the man—the woman frowns.</p><p>“He’ll see,” she says, annoyed.</p><p>“He will see the tracks anyway,” Jango answers. “If you’re fast he won’t get away.”</p><p>The woman frowns but after a beat she obeys. She raises herself on her knees once again, leans the belly of the rifle on the boulder, puts the stock on her right shoulder. </p><p>The man does see her. One second he has his back to them, and then he twitches, and he turns around, one hand on his blaster and the other already turning the bike handle, and then the woman takes her shot.</p><p>It hits the bike’s engine. Something explodes, pushes the man back. He’s already up and running when Jango jumps on his own speeder, missing with all his strength his jetpack and cursing the life out of the stranger. </p><p>However, the man doesn’t run in the direction to Tchuta-1—somehow, he’s found the other speeders where they’re hidden behind the boulders, and he’s running full pelt across the ridge, in the direction of the slope. It’s almost a sheer cliff wall, but the man barely takes a look before stepping down.</p><p>It’s a long way down, but he gets to the ground in one piece, and then the fucker just dusts himself down, looks in the direction of the boulders and begins to approach them, hands raised. There’s blood in his hair and on his face, and his ribs must be killing him, but it’s like the stranger’s unstoppable.</p><p>Jango glances at the Twi’lek—the woman is still staring down her rifle, her finger on the trigger. The other two have stood up, and keep looking at Jango and then back at the man. Jango rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Don’t kill him,” he tells the Twi’lek, and then he dismounts and unholsters his blasters again.</p><p>Jango steps out from behind the boulders, half-expecting someone to shoot at him, and is almost disappointed when nobody does. The man is alone, as suspected, and he keeps on walking towards them, his hands up in the air and his face blank.</p><p>Jango frowns. The stranger’s too clever for something this stupid. He either has a plan, or he’s confident enough he can take Jango if he’s on his own, or both. The man isn’t scared—he moves like he thinks he knows what he’s doing, like he is exactly where he wants to be.</p><p>Jango raises his left fist and stops walking; after a few seconds, the man stops walking as well.</p><p>He holds his left arm strangely, as if it hurts. It doesn’t look broken, and he’s smiling, as he was last time, but his eyes are cold. </p><p>“Hello again,” the man says. Jango frowns. He has a perfectly normal Mid Rim accent with a hint of something else Jango cannot place. “That was a good shot.”</p><p>Jango doesn’t answer. The man tilts his head, apparently happy to wait him out, his hands still up and his left arm trembling slightly.</p><p>He hit his head when the speeder exploded, and there’s blood in his hair, on his face. His chin is red, the skin irritated and it looks tender—it seems like part of the fuel reached him.</p><p>Jango’s team approaches—two pairs of steps, one long and light, the other shorter, heavier. The stranger blinks, but he doesn’t lose his smile.</p><p>“You know you’re dead,” the woman says. She’s at Jango’s back, slightly to the left. “If you tell us why you were tailing us, we’ll make it quick.”</p><p>The man hums. </p><p>“Well, that’s very kind of you,” he answers, and Jango frowns, because there it is, there’s what irked him about his accent—sometimes he sounds more Inner Core than anything. </p><p>The Togruta snorts. He swings his vibroblade idly. “Oh, we know.”</p><p>The man sighs. He glances at Jango, and then shrugs. “I was just curious.”</p><p>A beat of silence.</p><p>“Really,” the woman says, disbelief dripping from the word. “Well, that was stupid, then.”</p><p>The man’s smile widens. It’s very... <em>polite</em>. Jango scowls.</p><p>Condescending bastard. </p><p>“Maybe it was,” the stranger answers. He exhales, blinks sweat and blood from his eyes, and then stops, frozen in place, head tilted. Jango feels himself tense up. “Or maybe it wasn’t.”</p><p>The first speeder comes around the bend, and soon three, four, five more follow, all of them new and shiny and suddenly things have changed and they’ve lost the advantage and it’s time to leave. </p><p>The human woman curses, and then Jango hears both her and the Togruta turn back, begin to run back to their own vehicles. Not him, though; he has a job to finish first. </p><p>The stranger’s fast. It surprised Jango the first time, and it does again. He’s also stronger than he looks—he avoids Jango’s shots with ease, and then slips into Jango’s space and tries to take his gun from him. Jango throws an elbow in his direction, and the stranger dodges the slash with a curse. He’s found another vibroknife Manda knows where, and he flips it in his hand, goes once again for Jango’s kute, for the places not protected by his beskar’gam.</p><p>It might have worked—if he wasn’t still  recovering from the previous fight, if he wasn’t as tired as Jango thinks he is, if he had a better weapon than a short vibroblade, he might have come close to winning.</p><p>But he doesn’t have any of those things.</p><p>Jango dodges first a lunge, then the following kick to his buy’ce, and then he grabs the man around the stomach with his left arm and throws him with all his strength to the ground. The man snarls, tries to roll, but Jango doesn’t let him. He kneels over the stranger, blaster already hot and shooting in his hand, and the man has to drop his knife in order to grab Jango’s arm, to keep the muzzle of Jango’s pistol away from his face.</p><p>When Jango goes for his other Westar the stranger buckles his hips, but Jango’s heavy, and he’s stronger, and he isn’t giving up—he told Kawa he’d kill him, and he cannot afford to fail, not again, not with Boba’s life on the line. He snarls under his helmet, and tightens his knees around the man’s body, and unholsters his other gun—</p><p>And then some dikut’la shabuirfucking shoots Jango in the head.</p><p>The impact throws him back. The beskar holds, but whatever he’s been shot with packed enough of a punch he actually black outs for a second.</p><p>That’s more than enough for the stranger. He pushes Jango off and rolls back to his feet, face dusty and teeth full of blood, hair in his face.</p><p>Jango makes himself stand up, the world blinking in and out of his sight. He raises his Westar, wavers on his feet, snarls, manages somehow to not fall down.</p><p>“Fett!” someone yells, and he blinks. He needs a second to recognize the voice. The Twi’lek—she stood back, by the boulders. Clever girl. “They’re too many! We need to leave!”</p><p>And Jango has not gotten to grow this old by being stupid, so he looks around, and when he finds out she’s right, he clenches his jaw.</p><p>“You almost had me,” the stranger says. The idiot hasn’t used that absolutely undeserved stroke of luck to put some space between them—he is still in front of Jango, breathing hard, and his fake accent slips again, pure Coruscanti hiding behind the words.</p><p>“Next time I will,” Jango says.</p><p>And the shabuir has the gall to smile, to tilt his head and quip back, “I guess we’ll see.”</p><p>*</p><p>It’s late, but there’s still light in the brothel’s windows, and Obi-Wan can hear the sounds of conversation and of music.</p><p>The party has been going on for a couple hours already, and before that Obi-Wan spent another one holed up in Spadaro’s little office room with one of his Nikto lieutenants, telling him why he followed Fett and what he found. </p><p>A hunch, and nothing at all, were his answers—and while they were more than slightly unsatisfactory, the Twi’lek took one look at Obi-Wan’s face, at the burns and the blood and the sweat stains, and decided to let him go. </p><p>Spadaro will be sending someone to scout the area next morning, however, which is exactly the kind of thing Obi-Wan wished to avoid.</p><p>Afterwards, Obi-Wan was whisked away to Hercules’s infirmary. The Toydarian patched him up once again, grumbling under his breath all the while, and when Obi-Wan came out, he found himself in the middle of an impromptu party: apparently Repo had woken up and both the med droid and Hercules were sure he’d survive his wounds, and the rest of Spadaro’s band had decided to get together and celebrate the occasion.</p><p>It took Obi-Wan almost half an hour to escape, and now that he’s out on the street, the only thing he does for a while is just... breathe in and breathe out, his eyes blinking in the dark. </p><p>He’s exhausted, but too wired to sleep. Obi-Wan looks at the empty buildings, the darkened storefronts, and sighs, rubs at his face and grimaces when a broken nail scratches at one of the burns. </p><p>Not for the first time, he’s glad Anakin is not there and can’t see his face.</p><p>Gonji is also still awake, and that is strange—the man always closes up his cantina right after the sun sets. When the Ithorian sees Obi-Wan, he raises his arm, waves at him; Obi-Wan frowns. Gonji feels anxious. Obi-Wan approaches the barkeeper, hands in the pockets of his jacket to try and beat the night cold. </p><p>“Ben,” the man says when Obi-Wan’s close enough. He sounds agitated, and Obi-Wan feels himself tense up. He reaches out with his feelings, but the Force is calm. </p><p>“It’s late. Is there any problem?” Obi-Wan asks. Both Kawa and Spadaro’s men usually leave the Ithorian alone—he’s big and he’s mean and he keeps a shotgun blaster under the bar which he knows how to use—but once or twice Ben has had to intervene.</p><p>The Ithorian looks at him like he doesn’t know what to say. The lights of the cantina off, and the place is made of shadows, darker and denser under the tables, in the corner of the bar, on the other side of the half-open back door. </p><p>Gonji nods towards the latter, and turns around. Obi-Wan follows him inside the cantina and across the place, through the half-open door. </p><p>They’re still close to the main street, and Obi-Wan can still hear the noise from the brothel, but the little alley is empty save for Gonji’s speeder truck. Beyond the vehicle, on the other side of the alley, there are some scattered houses, all of them empty, some of them half-broken down, missing roofs or windows or doors or whole walls. They stand dark against the deep blue of the night sky. It’s full of stars, and the asteroid ring of the nearby planet shines across them, pale and faraway. It’s cold, and windy, and it smells of the chemicals from the mines, but Obi-Wan breathes in deep anyway: it’s beautiful.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s exhausted. That’s why he doesn’t notice the shadow behind the speeder at first. But then he sees something move from the corner of his eye, and Obi-Wan turns around, his heart in his throat and his hand already over his blaster, half-sure Gonji, or Fett, someone, has given him up.</p><p>But no—it’s not them</p><p>Anakin drops his shields, and he smiles, hesitant and guilty in the stars’ low light. A mix of anxiety and pure, unadulterated relief fills their bond.</p><p>“Hello, m- Ben,” Anakin says.</p><p>*</p><p>Gonji doesn’t actually live in the second door of the cantina like Obi-Wan thought, but in one of the little houses that can be seen beyond the settlement’s limits. The place is more ruin than home, but the Ithorian keeps it clean, and it’s obvious he’s doing all he can to make it comfortable. There’s water and power, and after he ushers Obi-Wan and Anakin inside, he closes and locks his main door, lowers the blinds, he approaches the heating unit and turns it on—the teenager is shivering.</p><p>Anakin’s wearing just the inner layer of his robes, and he’s done something to his hair: his padawan braid is gone. He looks ridiculous, too thin and still with that horrible zit on his cheek, and his nails are dark with engine grease, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether to kill him or to pull him close. He ends up standing awkwardly in front of him with his arms crossed while the Ithorian acts as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary and Anakin slowly curls into himself. </p><p>Finally, Gonji disappears into what Obi-Wan guesses is his bedroom with a last look at Obi-Wan and closes his door behind him. Obi-Wan and Anakin listen to the door slide closed, and then Obi-Wan sighs, combs a hand through his hair, and sits down on one of the colourful cushions around the low table, one of the few pieces of actual furniture he can see in the house.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice low. “And what have you done with your padawan braid, Anakin? And with our ‘sabers? Did you leave them in the ship?”</p><p>Anakin scoffs. He doesn’t sit down and crosses his arms, his shoulders hunched. He puts his hand in the right pocket of his leggings and brings out both lightsabers—after a last look in the direction of Gonji’s door, Obi-Wan calls his own to his hand.</p><p>The familiar weight and texture of the durasteel hilt are impossibly reassuring. The kyber crystal hums inside its casing, and Obi-Wan lets out a breath, closes his eyes for a beat. </p><p>“Of course I didn’t leave them in the ship, master, I’m not an idiot,” Anakin answers. Obi-Wan opens his eyes. The teenager is still on his feet, his back to him, and Obi-Wan swallows the words he actually wants to say. Anakin is shivering, and Obi-Wan can feel his distress through their bond—his shields are better than most padawans’ his age, but he’s so strong in the Force that it’s hard for him to stop his own emotions from overflowing them anyway.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He slides his lightsaber into the right pocket of his trousers and then stands up. He takes off his own jacket and puts it around his padawan’s shoulders, and Anakin jumps, surprised, glances back at him before looking forwards again. He’s scowling, angry and hurt and anxious.</p><p>“Anakin,” Obi-Wan begins, “I’m not angry, it’s just…” </p><p>“Yes you are,” his padawan interrupts him. He exhales, and turns to face Obi-Wan, “and you should be, I disobeyed you!”</p><p>Anakin ends the sentence almost yelling. He stops himself, closes his eyes, and Obi-Wan can feel him trying to calm himself down.</p><p>“Sorry,” the boy continues, his voice lower, “it’s just… I could feel you, master, through the bond. I was worried. And— and they were getting closer, the search parties.”</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He rubs at his face, and looks at his apprentice. The jacket is too big around his shoulders, but the sleeves are almost the appropriate length. He still remembers when Anakin was small enough to carry around on one arm, and it’s so strange, this awareness of the fact that his padawan is growing, has grown. Obi-Wan wonders if Qui-Gon ever felt this way about him.</p><p>At least the leatheris’s doing its job—Anakin’s stopped shivering. The boy puts his hand back in his trouser pocket—when he brings it out, Obi-Wan can see his padawan braid, carefully tied off and coiled.</p><p>“I brought it with me,” he explains unnecessarily. He’s not embarrassed, and he looks Obi-Wan in the eye, earnest and sincere, “and when we go back you can help me remake it, master.”</p><p>He’s just… so much. Obi-Wan sighs again, and then grabs him by the shoulder, moves him back to the cushions and makes him sit down. When Obi-Wan imitates him, the padawan immediately moves closer to him, and Obi-Wan wonders if he’s still cold.</p><p>He takes his lightsaber from his pocket, and hands it back to him.</p><p>“Maybe you should keep it for a while yet,” he says. Anakin grabs the weapon, his eyes on Obi-Wan’s face.</p><p>“What’s happened to you, master?” he asks. He raises one dirty hand to Obi-Wan’s chin, and he lets him touch his burnt skin with his cold fingers for a beat without moving away. When Anakin lets his hand drop, and Obi-Wan blinks, lowers his gaze, wonders whether he should lie. Finally, he sighs.</p><p>“Well, you know,” he begins. “A speeder might have exploded while I was still riding it.”</p><p>“What? How?!” Anakin wonders way too loud. There’s a familiar mix of glee and worry in his eyes, and the bond thrums with the feelings as well. Obi-Wan shushes him, looking at the door at his back. “Master, what happened? You don’t look well.”</p><p>“It’s way too long and convoluted to explain right now,” Obi-Wan replies honestly. “Let’s just leave it at that. We need to plan. We have no allies in this place.”</p><p>Anakin frowns. He burrows into Obi-Wan’s jacket and hugs his own knees. </p><p>“What am I going to do with you?” Obi-Wan wonders out loud. “You can’t go back with me to Spadaro’s.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Because they are looking for you, and I don’t want you near them.</p><p>“I told them I was alone,” Obi-Wan answers. </p><p>Anakin lowers his gaze. Anxiety rises and falls down again in the Force, along with something else, uglier and bitter. Obi-Wan keeps his shields firmly closed.</p><p>“Anakin, it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he begins. He doesn’t know how to explain.</p><p>“Then let me help you,” his padawan says. “I’m clever! I can lie!”</p><p>“I know you are clever,” Obi-Wan says. “I do not doubt you’re capable, Anakin. It’s not that.”</p><p>“Then what is it, master? We’ve been here for almost a week,” Anakin snaps back at him. </p><p>Obi-Wan blinks. He falls quiet</p><p>“I know and I’m sorry, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. The boy opens his mouth, an unfamiliar expression on his face, and Obi-Wan plows on. “But you’re my padawan. That means you’re my responsibility, and I will take care of this.”</p><p>Anakin closes his mouth. His face is not blank, but Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to read it, and for once his apprentice’s managing to keep what he feels out of the bond.</p><p>Obi-Wan wonders what is it he’s said now that has hurt Anakin. When Anakin was younger it was both harder and easier; now, however, it seems like Obi-Wan hurts his padawan without even noticing, like he’s forgotten how not to. They keep talking across each other, what they each mean getting twisted and losing its true meaning before it reaches the other.</p><p>“I know, master, I didn’t mean that,” Anakin finally says. “It’s just… I don’t know. I can tell you’re tired. And you’re hurt. I’m just… scared, I guess. Sorry.” </p><p>For once, Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. He exhales, feeling the stress of the last few days weighing down on his shoulders.</p><p>Because that’s the thing: Anakin’s right. Obi-Wan’s exhausted, and he hurts, and he’s in over his head: he’s lost control of the situation. He’s floundering, and his apprentice is paying the price. Obi-Wan looks at the boy, who’s hugging his legs to himself like a younger child, trying to make himself smaller, swimming in the too big jacket, tired and dirty and honestly kind of disgusting in that way only teenage boys are able to achieve, and Obi-Wan can’t help the enormous well of— of feeling, of attachment, that surges behind his shields. </p><p>He brushes his hand through Anakin’s dirty hair; the boy pushes back against his palm, and Obi-Wan lets it drop and rest on his shoulder. </p><p>“It’s okay, Anakin. I’m not hurt. You’re right. These few days have been hard,” he says. “But you can’t come with me..”</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs and rubs at his eyes. His thoughts feel slow, sluggish—he really has no idea of what to do with Anakin. Obi-Wan could try and convince him to go back to the shuttle, but Anakin’s right: Kawa’s men are getting too close. </p><p>That leaves one of the houses around here, but Obi-Wan likes that option even less—he doesn’t know how long it’ll take him to get things moving, and he doesn’t want Anakin to stay there on his own, with no running water and no power. He’s only fourteen. </p><p>“Master?” Anakin says suddenly. He sounds tired, and when Obi-Wan looks at him he is already half-asleep, his chin resting on his folded knees.</p><p>“Yes, little one?” Obi-Wan asks, falling back on the familiar nickname without thinking. </p><p>It’s been years since the last time he called Anakin that. </p><p>Anakin doesn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“I think if you ask him Gonji will let me stay here,” Anakin says. “He saw me in the main street and brought me to the back. I think he likes you.”</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts. “He must, I’m pretty sure I’m his only real client,” he replies. He looks at Anakin, who stares back at him with tired blue eyes. “We’d put him in danger.”</p><p>“Master, he lives here, I think he’s already in danger,” is Anakin’s reply. He yawns, big and sudden, and Obi-Wan hears his jaw click. “I don’t know. I think you should ask, master.”</p><p>“I will,” Obi-Wan says. He brushes Anakin’s hair from his face. “What have you done to your hair? It looks like you lost a fight against a gardener droid.”</p><p>The boy scrunches up his nose; he’s closed his eyes. “I cut the braid and the tail with a vibroknife. I tried to make it even but I couldn’t see the back.”</p><p>“Yes, I can tell,” Obi-Wan laughs softly. “We’ll have to fix it later.”</p><p>Anakin doesn’t answer—he’s fallen asleep.</p><p>*</p><p>Obi-Wan leaves Anakin sleeping on the main room’s floor and knocks on Gonji’s bedroom door. He can tell the Ithorian isn’t asleep, his fast-moving thoughts pinging his shields in the Force.</p><p>After a few seconds, the door slides open. The Ithorian looks at Anakin over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, something approaching tenderness evident in the Force, and then moves from the threshold. Obi-Wan follows him and looks around the room. There’s a narrow bed next to one of the walls, a dresser next to the other wall, and the only window has been covered with a mix of wood planks and duraplast fragments taped together. Like the rest of the house, it’s clean and cozy if also on the side of too small, full of old and rickety furniture that’s been lovingly repaired. </p><p>The Ithorian doesn’t beat around the bush.</p><p>“The boy told me he’s your brother,” Gonji says. He’s lowered the volume of his translated voice, and not for the first time Obi-Wan finds himself liking the man. “That your transport had been shot down and you were stranded here.”</p><p>Well, that could have gone much worse, even if Obi-Wan can see Gonji suspects it’s not the full truth. </p><p>“He is, and we are,” Obi-Wan says. He smiles, as honest as he can make it—he’s not lying. From a certain point of view, Anakin <em>is</em> his brother. “I wanted to thank you. It would have been… ugly, if anyone had seen him.”</p><p>The Ithorian hums, and the sound hurts Obi-Wan’s ears—Gonji’s translator tries to do its job and turns it into a kind of staticky yawn-sigh that’s almost worse. </p><p>“Kawa is looking for something, or someone,” Gonji says. “It’s you.”</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t lower his eyes. He keeps his smile in place but feels himself tense—he can’t read any ill intent from Gonji, but he’s tired and anxious, and he knows his hold on the Force is flagging. </p><p>“Maybe,” Obi-Wan replies. A beat of silence, and then, “What are you going to do about it?”</p><p>The Ithorian grumbles again. He sounds exasperated.</p><p>“Nothing at all, so calm down before you hurt yourself,” Gonji says. </p><p>“She may be willing to pay for information on us,” Obi-Wan snaps back. “On him, more specifically.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>The Ithorian falls quiet. He sighs once again, and lets himself drop down carefully on his bed. He scratches at his throat with blunt fingers.</p><p>“He’s just a boy, isn’t he? You’re young but he’s younger,” Gonji says. Obi-Wan snorts. He nods. He rubs his face with one scratched hand and allows himself to relax once again. </p><p>“I know it’s hard to tell with humans, but yes. He’s clever, but he’s very young.”</p><p>They fall quie. The Ithorian blinks at him with tired eyes—suddenly, Obi-Wan feels very guilty of imposing on him. It’s very late. </p><p>“He can’t stay with you,” Gonji says—it’s not a question, but Obi-Wan shakes his head anyway.</p><p>“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”</p><p>The Ithorian sighs. He shakes his neck, and while Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to read that, he can feel him in the Force, exasperation and patience and incredulity all mixed together.</p><p>“He can’t stay here,” the Ithorian begins. Obi-Wan feels something heavy and cold make itself at home in his stomach, but he keeps quiet—Gonji has not finished speaking. “But there are a couple houses around here where he could stay, and the power grid still works. I’ll take care of the food.”</p><p>“We have food,” Obi-Wan says. “You’ve done en— “</p><p>“I will take Republic credits,” the Ithorian interrupts him. It’s hard to tell with non-humanoids, but Obi-Wan thinks he’s smiling. </p><p>Obi-Wan exhales a long sigh—he feels like a weight has been lifted off from his shoulders.</p><p>“We can work with that,” Obi-Wan replies. “Thank you.”</p><p>Gonji grumbles. “It’s nothing,” he says gruffly. “Now get out of my house. It’s late.”</p><p>*</p><p>Jango opens his eyes, his heart beating too fast in his chest, and sits up on the mattress, his hand already around the blaster under his pillow. Speeders, voices, something that sounds very similar to a body hitting the ground.</p><p>Jango checks the time—it’s almost dawn. He’s still exhausted, but he stands up from the bed, and suits up. He checks that his buy’ce is secure, breathes in, and then goes out the door.</p><p>There are a couple speeders idling near the entrance to the complex, and the lights of the ground floor room are on. The guards that keep watch near the gate are tense, and when they see Jango coming they look away, his hands white-knuckled on their weapons. His son’s room window is dark.</p><p>He approaches one of the guards. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Jango asks. The Rodian jumps, and turns on their heel to look at Jango. </p><p>“I don’t know,” they say. They look back towards the speeders parked next to the gate. “Kawa sent them on another search—I think they found something.”</p><p>Jango turns around and begins to approach the house.</p><p>The big room’s more crowded than usual. Calanta is in her usual place, close to the head of the long table, and when Jango steps through the door she lifts her head and her eyes find his through his helmet immediately. There are a couple of tired-looking women next to the doo, and Kawa is talking to a Weequay of indeterminate gender on the other side of the room, next to the heating unit. The place is so cold Jango can see everyone’s breath. </p><p>Kawa sees him enter, and glances at him and back, his arms crossed—for once she doesn’t seem in the mood for her usual taunting. She’s scowling, but the gesture doesn’t seem to be directed to anyone in particular. </p><p>When the Weequay finishes speaking, Kawa nods and says something in a low voice. The Weequay nods and then they and their partners leave the room. </p><p>“They’ve found the shuttle,” Kawa says when it’s only her, Calanta and Jango. She’s so tense he can feel it from the other side of the room, so anxious it surprises him: she’s actually worried. “It was empty.”</p><p>“You want me to find something else,” he says instead. Kawa smirks, and her green eyes turn to him, but her mind’s still elsewhere. </p><p>“Not something. Someone,” she says. “The pilot and the boy. They are still alive, here, somewhere.”</p><p>There’s a datapad laying face down on the table. She grabs it and turns it on, checks something on its screen. Her scowl deepens and she lets it drop on the table with a clatter of cheap plastoid against wood. </p><p>Her eyes return to Jango.</p><p>“Get a move on,” she says.</p><p>Jango waits for a beat, and then he obeys.</p><p>*</p><p>The guard is the blue Twi’lek from the second encounter with Spadaro’s beroya, and when he steps into the room, she glances at him, and after a beat she exits the room and closes the door after her. Jango blinks behind his buy’ce, suspicious, but then Boba runs into his legs and he decides to not look a gift fathier in the mouth. He takes off his buy’ce with one hand, and with the other brushes aside his son’s curls from his face. </p><p>Boba beams up at him. He’s grimy and too pale, and there’s a shine to his dark eyes that Jango doesn’t like.</p><p>Jango puts it out of his mind and, after tethering his buy’ce to this belt, he kneels down and hugs Boba.</p><p>“Bu, your face is scratchy,” Boba says, his little arms around Jango’s neck, and Jango laughs, rubs his cheek against his son’s until the boy squeals and tries to get away. He’s overwarm and slightly sweaty, but it’s not the room—the place feels like an oven in the afternoon, but the sun just came up.</p><p>Something heavy and dense, like lead or poison or a very sharp knife, settles in Jango’s stomach.</p><p>“Sorry, ad’ika,” he answers. Jango grabs Boba’s offered hand and follows him to his bed. When Jango sits on the mattress, the boy settles on Jango’s lap, his side against Jango’s chest. There’s a new blanket, old and stained but thick, made of something that looks and feels like actual wool. Jango frowns but doesn’t ask—he’s happy it’s there.</p><p>He lets the boy babble at him for a while. Jango listens, and he makes the right noises at the right times, but his focus is elsewhere: he can’t stop thinking about how thin Boba has grown, about the way Boba shivers against the beskar.</p><p>Boba coughs, something hoarse and rattling that reminds Jango of the spice freighter, and he looks exhausted in a way five year old children aren’t supposed to be. He’s obviously happy to see Jango, but his strength flags halfway his tale about the tooka that he saw yesterday evening through his window rummaging in the bins outside, and then he falls quiet.</p><p>Jango takes off his right glove—after a beat, he takes the other one as well. Boba grabs his left hand, his small hands sticky and warm, and he lets Jango put his free palm on his forehead. Boba feels hot—Jango could check with his buy’ce’s sensors, but he doesn’t need to. The fear is sudden and all-encompassing. Jango kisses his son’s head, his curls tickling his nose, and blinks. Boba coughs again.</p><p>“Bu?” Boba asks.</p><p>“Yes, Boba?”</p><p>Boba needs a room that’s well insulated, better food, actually drinkable water, to play around in the sun. This is Jango’s fault.</p><p>What if Boba gets sicker? What if Jango can’t solve this mess of a situation soon and they have to stay here for months? He knows children are resilient—he knows it from experience—but this isn’t the kind of life Jango wants for his son.</p><p>Jango should have stayed on Kamino, with his <em>eyayade</em>, being prod at and examined by the <em>Kaminiise</em>. He should have never stopped on Tchuta-1. He should have never brought Boba there.</p><p>“When are we going home, bu?” Boba asks. Jango sighs. He forces himself to look his son in the eye, even if the shame and the guilt make it almost impossible.</p><p>“I don’t know, Bob’ika,” Jango admits. “Soon. How’re you feeling?”</p><p>Boba doesn’t look away. He scowls. “My head hurts and my throat hurts and I miss Taun We.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Boba,” Jango says. He brushes the backs of his fingers over his son’s nose. It usually makes him laugh—not this time. Boba moves away, still scowling, the expression on his face stormy and his eyes shining with unshed tears. He jumps from Jango’s lap and stands up in front of him, his arms crossed.</p><p>“I wanna go home,” Boba says in Basic. “This place is boring and I can’t see you and I’m cold all the time.”</p><p>“Bob’ika—” Jango stands up as well. He raises his right hand, but Boba moves away, still scowling. His lips are trembling. He begins to cry.</p><p>“I WANNA GO HOME,” he yells. Boba starts coughing, loud and wet and horrifying. When Jango kneels beside him and gets his arms around Boba, he lets himself be hugged. “I wanna go home, bu, I wanna go home.”</p><p>Jango sits down on the room’s dirty floor, his son in his lap, and rocks him until Boba falls asleep, his face still wet.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango stays there until the guard knocks on the door, almost half an hour later. The woman doesn’t wait for him to answer before letting it slip open and stepping through the threshold. When she sees him there, helmetless and with the boy in his lap, she opens her eyes wide but keeps her mouth shut.</p><p>Jango puts Boba back in the bed and covers him with the new-old blanket, and then kisses his forehead—too warm, slightly damp—before suiting back up. First the gloves, right and left, and then the buy’ce.</p><p>Jango doesn’t look at the Twi’lek, although he can feel her staring at him. When he finishes, however, he turns to look at her. </p><p>“The blanket. Was it you?” Jango asks. She’s scared—it’s easy to tell, with Twi’leks. Their lekku go rigid: hers are so tense they must hurt.</p><p>“Yes—yes it was me,” she answers. She clears her throat, blinks very fast. “Kawa—she doesn’t know.”</p><p>She probably wouldn’t have allowed it.</p><p>“You’ve chosen the wrong profession,” Jango tells her. She’s too soft—it benefits him this time, but it will get her killed, sooner rather than later.</p><p>“I didn’t choose shit,” she replies, bitter. “I was born here.”</p><p>Jango tilts his helmet and files that information for later consideration..</p><p>“I won’t forget this,” he tells her.</p><p>It’s not a threat: Jango’s grateful. But she shakes her head and looks away.</p><p>“Don’t mention it,” she replies, her eyes on the floor. </p><p>She means it.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango goes downstairs after making sure that his son is asleep, and that he’s as warm and comfortable as he can get. He doesn’t see anyone else while he traverses the old farmhouse’s hallways, his boots heavy and loud on the dirty plasteel floor. It’s still early: Kawa must have sent her goons to the mines, or to the warehouses near the spaceport, or to needle Spadaro’s people in the town. </p><p>Jango doesn’t understand what the hell she’s waiting for—Spadaro may have more men, but hers are better armed.</p><p>And she has him after all. Spadaro’s new pet enforcer may be good, but Jango is still the best. </p><p>It must be the shuttle they found last night, the kid she wants Jango to find. Those things are the reason she’s biding her time. Jango frowns and begins climbing down the rickety stairs. </p><p>What does she lack, what does she need, what does she want? More men? More guns? More money? The Hutts’ well-wishes? Something else? All of those things? Jango feels half-blind, clumsy—there’s something he’s not seeing, something he doesn’t know, and it’s keeping him from seeing the whole picture. Frustration, sharp and bitter, fills his mouth, poisons the fury that has been raging inside him since the first time he saw the exploding collar around his son’s neck.</p><p>Jango stops in front of the cellar door. It’s built deep under the farmhouse, at least a meter underground. Once upon a time it must have been the farm’s main pantry, but now the air inside smells of gun oil and durasteel instead.</p><p>Jango searched the place one night, looking for the detonator for the collar. He didn’t find it, but that means that now he doesn’t need to slice the lock to the cellar, and that he knows perfectly well where the portable heating units are, where he can find a box of ration packs, where they keep their water.</p><p>Jango grabs everything he needs, struggling under the weight of the water can and the heating unit, his arms straining in their effort to carry it all at once. He knows he won’t get another chance.</p><p>He lets the door slide closed at his back, and hears the lock’s soft beep, and after resettling his cargo as well as he can, he begins the long way upstairs.</p><p>His mind is quiet, blank—he knows from experience it won’t last. Jango also knows it’s not how most human beings’ brains work, and he can remember—far away in time, so long ago it feels almost like a dream—that once upon a time fear and rage didn’t make him this cold. </p><p>But now his mind goes quiet, detached, so cold it’d scare him if he was a different person. He can see what’s going to happen in his mind’s eye, as clear as if it had already happened: maybe he will get lucky, for once in his life, and he’ll get back to Boba’s little room without issue. No one will see him. He’ll first find the karking shuttle and then that kid Kawa’s master wants, and then the Zabrak will forget about the things he just grabbed from her cellar.</p><p>Or maybe he won’t—maybe his bad luck will hold, the bad luck that has been hounding Jango since he was a child in Concord Dawn and he saw his parents’ farm burn, the bad luck he hopes his son will be able to escape. Someone will see him, and he’ll have to deal with the consequences.</p><p>Jango needs to go up three floors—he doesn’t even make it to the ground floor.</p><p>His buy’ce’s sensors pick up the noise first, and Jango grinds his teeth, thinks about turning on the scanners, decides not to at the last moment. His fingers twitch around the metal casing of the heating unit, uncomfortably wedged between the water can and his arms, but he doesn’t go for his gun. </p><p>The door at the end of the stairs opens, and on the other side appears Calanta’s craggy, weathered face. For a beat, she just looks at him, and Jango stares back over the ration box he’s balanced over the water can’s flat top, frozen half-way up the stairs.</p><p>If not for the way Jango’s stomach clenches, full of dour, cold fear, it’d be funny.</p><p>Clearly, Calanta finds it hilarious. Jango resumes moving, and she keeps quiet, an amused smirk on her face, and when he stops in front of the threshold she steps aside on quiet feet, her pale amber eyes glinting under the wide brim of her hat. </p><p>She’s a head shorter than him, stocky, with broad shoulders and wide hips. Her short hair is almost completely grey, and her crooked nose, broken more than once, points slightly to her left. She could be any age between thirty and sixty, but Jango believes she might be closer to the latter than the former—it’s her hands, as rough and scarred as everything else about her, but also thinner, almost fragile.</p><p>Hands never lie. </p><p>“Fett,” she says. Her voice is like chewing glass: it grates on Jango’s nerves. He stops, one step away from the stairs that link the ground floor and the second floor. The midday sun enters through the dirty window that’s on the other side of the landing and paints the floor in pale gold. </p><p>Calanta is at his back. She approaches Jango from his blind spot and her steps are so quiet as to be almost completely silent. </p><p>“Yes,” he answers. The silent treatment doesn’t work on her. She’s too old, she’s seen too much, and the fact that she’s very probably Force sensitive complicates matters.</p><p>However, while it’s not the first time Jango encounters an unaffiliated, probably untrained Force sensitive, it is the first time he’s found himself so... unsettled by one. There is something wrong about her, something that makes him uncomfortable, that would almost scare him if he were younger or less experienced. </p><p>“That’s not yours,” she says. “I’m going to have to ask you to put it back where you found it.”</p><p>It’s gruff, low, matter-of-fact. She takes care of the things Kawa can’t be bothered to think about, and this is one of them.</p><p>Jango clenches his jaw—for a second, he’s tempted to keep walking, to see what happens if he ignores her.</p><p>But no—Boba needs him. He can’t risk making her angry.. </p><p>“My son is sick,” Jango says. His voice sounds rough, rougher than he’d intended. He suppresses the temptation to clear his throat. “His room is very cold.”</p><p>Calanta keeps quiet for a long second. Jango lets himself breathe, in and out, in and out, the exhales very loud inside his buy’ce. His mind is still calm, blank, cold, but his mouth is dry, and his arms hurt. </p><p>He doesn’t jump when Calanta appears to his right, but that’s because he’s too experienced—this time, he really didn’t hear her coming, even with his buy’ce’s sensors. </p><p>The woman grabs the heating unit, and she may be shorter than him, but she makes it seem easy.</p><p>“Lead the way, then,” she says. </p><p>Jango blinks, for once genuinely surprised, and then begins to climb. An instant later she follows—he hates giving her his back. He can feel her eyes on him.  </p><p>When they reach Boba’s room, the Twi’lek guard is waiting on the other side of the door, her back against it and her eyes on her datapad. When she hears them approaching she jumps and puts a hand on her blaster, lekku rigid with shock and her dark eyes open wide.</p><p>“Ma’am?” she says, her voice too high, too loud in the quiet of the hallway.</p><p>“Open the door, kid,” says Jango. The girl frowns slightly and doesn’t move. Her eyes move from Jango to Calanta and back to Jango.</p><p>“Do as he says, Eul’alia,” Calanta intervenes. “This piece of shit’s heavy.”</p><p>Eul’alia obeys. Jango is the first to enter the room. He puts the water can and the rations next to the door and then moves until he’s standing in front of his son’s bed, his back to Boba. Boba’s awake, but he stays under the blankets, his dark eyes peering at Jango, at Calanta, at Eu’lalia, moving between the three of them quickly and full of suspicion.</p><p>Calanta barely looks at him. She places the heating unit in the middle of the room and dusts her hands, her eyes fixed on Jango. She’s still smirking under the brim of her dark hat, and her yellow eyes shine unnaturally in its shadow. Jango can see the Twi’lek woman beyond the open door—she looks terrified, but she hasn’t moved, her hand still on her blaster and her datapad clenched with white fingers.</p><p>“Didn’t know your boy was sick, Fett,” Calanta says. She has an Outer Rim accent that’s vaguely familiar. “Should have said something.”</p><p>Jango keeps quiet. He has nothing to say, and he’s sure Calanta isn’t finished. He hears Boba sit up on his bed, and then a small hand grabs his.</p><p>Calanta kneels in front of the heating unit. She fiddles with one of the dials, and then stands up again. The machine growls to life, loud in the silence that fills the room.</p><p>“Next time you should just ask,” she says, and then she tips her hat in Jango’s direction and leaves. </p><p>He and Eul’alia exchange a look afterwards, the woman still clearly shaken, and Jango as well, more than he’d ever admit. </p><p>*</p><p>The shuttle is just over the ridge where Jango and his men almost killed Spadaro’s beroya.</p><p> </p><p>Something about the man bothers Jango: he’s good, very good, and while he’s not exactly old, he’s old enough to have begun to make himself a name. And he should have—the galaxy is big, but bounty hunter circles are small and nosy, always full of gossip and rumours about who’s died, who’s in trouble with one crime syndicate or another, who’s the next big thing.</p><p>And it’s true that Jango has not been as involved as he used to for the past five, six years—ever since he accepted Tyranus’s job, he’s spent most of his time on Kamino, helping train his eyayade and raising Boba.</p><p>But Jango’s still well-known in bounty hunter circles, and he still has would-be allies, if not friends. If someone as good as Spadaro’s beroya was around, Jango should have known about it. </p><p>But no—the man is a ghost. And Jango is uncommunicated, he has no access to the holonet or any of his old contacts, but the bounty hunter rumour mill should have been more than enough.</p><p>Jango dismounts his speeder bike and approaches the edge of the cliff. He looks at the small forest of short, twisted trees. Here and there are clearings, places where a small shuttle such as the one Kawa wanted found could have landed.</p><p>Jango clicks on his buy’ce’s sensors. The day is hot, as days always are in that shabla moon, but the space under the trees is cooler, four or five degrees at least. He’s too far away to get an accurate reading, but his sensors detect small animal lifeforms: birds, maybe, some kind of small ground predators. </p><p>It's the first time since they arrived that Jango’s seen anything resembling nature that’s not the settlement’s colony of feral tookas, or the womp rats that used to nest under his bed. He doesn’t know how to feel about it. Some kind of insect keeps flying at him, big and shiny silver under Tchuta-1’s pale sun, and Jango moves his right hand until it gets the message and flies away. </p><p>Jango loads up the exact coordinates of the shuttle, and then mounts his speeder once again, and proceeds to drive it down the ridge. He passes by Ben’s exploded vehicle on his way down, and can’t help but slow the bike. It’s laying on its side between the half-dead shrubs that grow on the ridge, and the dirt around it is blackened and smells of burnt fuel and hot metal. </p><p>There’s a bit of blood on the dust, so dark that it looks black and buzzing with insects.</p><p>Jango smirks under his helmet. </p><p>He revs up his bike and leaves the wreckage well behind with a cloud of dust.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango parks the speeder beneath one of the bigger trees and then steps under the canopy.</p><p>He’s tired. He’s not as young as he used to be, and the last few days have been hell. Jango’s quickly approaching the limit of his—admittedly—almost inhuman endurance. His mind, the blank, black calm he’s been clawing to for two weeks is beginning to fail him: it’s getting harder to keep the anxiety at bay, to force himself to focus on the things he knows he can fix. </p><p>Boba getting sick has changed things. </p><p>Until that moment, Jango knew his son was in danger. But the collar is a threat Jango can protect him against, something that can be dealt with, if not as easily or as quickly as he would like.</p><p>Jango has seen what sickness does to bigger, older, stronger beings. He knows that this far away from the Core’s shiny clinics or the Kaminiise’s ruthless efficiency getting sick is a death sentence more often than not. </p><p>Jango knows how to fight. He knows how to comply, how to obey and bide his time—he’s the best there is or will ever be at the waiting game.</p><p>But he doesn’t know how to defeat an enemy such as sickness.</p><p>Jango stops walking, his greaves dirty with dust and strong-smelling green matter. He breathes in, breathes out. He needs to focus.</p><p>Jango can’t begin to guess at Calanta’s true intentions. Eul’alia is easier—she’s young, and she’s mostly decent, for a small time crook on a moon in the middle of nowhere. </p><p>But he can’t begin to guess why Calanta decided to help him. She’s smarter and more practical than Kawa, less prideful—it may be that she’s decided that keeping Jango happy will help her in the long run. </p><p>And while Jango is sure there’s something of that in her decision, his instincts tell him that he’s missing something. She looks at Jango like she recognises him, and like she’s sharing a joke with him that he’s too slow or too stupid or too ignorant to understand.</p><p>The woods are extraordinarily difficult to navigate. The trees are low, twisted things that cling to life with all the stubborn tenacity of vegetal life everywhere. Their needle-like leaves crunch under his boots, and the too-low branches keep scratching Jango’s buy’ce. The insects’ buzz is deafening, and here and there small winged things flutter from one branch to another and track him with tiny black eyes that glitter like glass. </p><p>The previous patrols’ signs are easy to follow: there are footsteps everywhere, broken branches, crushed shrubs, clothing fibers, hair. Someone left a dusty plastic bottle filled with something that looks too clean to be water under one of the trees, and Jango scowls, bothered by the clear lack of professionalism.</p><p>His buy’ce tells him he’s getting closer, and Jango forces his tired legs to walk faster, ducking branches and jumping over the twisted trunks of fallen trees. Something white and red shines clear and alien between the foliage, and then the rest of the ship follows.</p><p>The design is familiar—clearly a Republic vessel, not very big but big enough for a crew of two or three. It has three wing-like foils and a rounded, comfortable-looking body. The transparisteel front viewport looks whole, if cracked, and the durasteel casing that covers what must be the engines has been blackened, but for a vessel that was shot down from the sky, the thing looks remarkably well. Whoever landed it must be a supremely gifted pilot. </p><p>Jango scans it—it’s empty—and then approaches the back. Not for the first time, he wishes he could access the holonet—Jango’s sure he’s seen such a vessel before, but for the life of him he can’t remember when or where. </p><p>Jango slices the back hatch open, and lowers the ramp. The lights switch on by themselves once Jango steps inside. The small cargo hold is mostly empty. There’s a crate in a corner, still half-full: ration packs, caf, a box of tea leaves, two five liter water cans, a first aid kit.</p><p>The only bunkroom is almost claustrophobic. There are four bunk beds, but only two of them look as if someone has slept in them recently. The small galley’s full of dirty plates and empty ration packs, and the fresher’s is empty save for a single, lonely, forgotten toothbrush. Jango doesn’t touch anything. He opens drawers, peers into cabinets, but he leaves everything as he found it. </p><p>The last thing he checks is the cockpit. He switches on the nav computer and checks the logs—they’ve been thoroughly scrubbed. He thinks about slicing the thing, but he actually does not give a shit about where they came from. He’s been asked to find the kid, and that’s what he’s going to do. </p><p>He exits the shuttle, and clicks on his buy’ce’s sensors to search the forest floor for clues. Too many footprints. The kid—and Jango is sure that the one behind the mess that’s the kitchen was him: teenage messes are distinctive, and he’s not looking forward to Boba’s—lived in the shuttle alone for a while, but his tracks are gone.. </p><p>Jango clicks off the display and curses under his breath. He saw this coming. He looks up: days in Tchuta-1 are short—the sky is beginning to lose its bright blue shade, and the pale shadow of the nearby asteroid field has taken on a soft golden hue. </p><p>There are not many places the kid could have gone. The town, the spaceport, the mines, the old mining company offices, one of the abandoned, broken-down farms that dot the area. </p><p>Jango sits down on the lowered ramp and takes off his buy’ce. The smells of the forest immediately hit him in the face. It smells green and dusty—the spicy smell of the trees and the dry, almost sweet scent of rotting foliage, and underneath it all, the mines’ chemical stink. Jango scrubs a gloved hand through his hair; it’s getting long. What he would do for an actual fresher, for hot water and a shave. He’s been making do with one his sharpest knives, but it’s not the same.</p><p>He closes his eyes and forces his brain to focus.</p><p>Jango doubts the kid will know anything about Tchuta-1—if anything, he’ll have some general knowledge about the town and the spaceport, maybe about the mines.</p><p>The mines are too far away and too well-protected, and Jango can’t begin to guess what a stranded human teenager that’s very probably on his own would want to do with them.</p><p>That leaves the main settlement in the area, and the spaceport.</p><p>The spaceport is a good option—the kid will want to leave, and while it’s far away from the forest, it’s a walkable distance if you’re young and more or less fit. However, it’s almost as well-protected as the mines, and maybe better watched. Kawa controls the main office and the control room, and Spadaro still owns the warehouse complex. The kid might not know, but if he had gone there they would already know and Jango wouldn’t be out there, wasting his time.</p><p>That leaves the town. </p><p>It’s closer than the spaceport, so he might have been able to walk there as well, but Spadaro’s brothel is there, and there’s also that cantina, the one with the Ithorian, where he’s seen Spadaro’s beroya once or twice, leaning on the door, drinking a tall glass of something dark and watching the street with cool blue eyes. </p><p>Maybe if the kid had gotten there early enough in the day or late enough at night, though. And if he’s as resourceful and clever as Jango’s beginning to think he is, he might have been able to slip through undetected. </p><p>Jango remembers the pilot then. He frowns. The kid might know someone in the town. Maybe the Ithorian themself, or one of the spaceport technicians, or maybe someone in Spadaro’s posse—that new beroya perhaps. </p><p>Right. Jango scoffs, laughs at himself. </p><p>This isn’t a holonovel. </p><p>He’ll have to look around, search the road that’s the only communication between the forest and the town. The only ones to use it lately are Kawa’s men, and speeder tracks are distinctive, and it hasn’t been so long: maybe he’ll find something. </p><p>Jango stands up and puts on his buy’ce. He reseals the shuttle and begins the long way back to his own bike. </p><p>He still needs to check the road, but something tells him he’s right—the kid’s in the town.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>trigger warnings: child neglect (not on jango's part, for once)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>new chapter! this one is very talky</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sight of the bedroom’s ceiling is familiar. It’s still dark—it must be early. Obi-Wan blinks the sleep from his eyes. He thinks about giving in to the temptation and just... sleeping in. Not for long, just another half an hour, enough to rest his weary bones. He went to sleep very late the previous night: he’s so exhausted his head hurts.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs and sits up on his borrowed bed with a groan. He’s shivering: the room’s so cold the inside of his window has fogged up. His bare feet hurt when he puts them on the freezing floor, and he dresses quickly in the clothes he’s begun to think as his despite himself. His shirt is—well. Obi-Wan might have to ask around to see if anyone can lend him another shirt while he washes the one he’s had to fight and sweat in for the past week.</p>
<p>Afterwards Obi-Wan kneels on the ratty mat some former occupant was so kind to leave behind and carefully opens his senses to the Force. A few days ago someone tried to pierce his shields and get a read on him—Obi-Wan has his suspicions—if not any kind of proof—and he’s told Anakin to be careful.</p>
<p>Anakin is awake as well. Obi-Wan pokes at their bond. It’s immediately filled with joy, tinged with familiar feelings of anxiety, fear, boredom, and something sharp and bitter that tastes of frustration, dry on the back of Obi-Wan’s tongue. Obi-Wan pushes comfort and warmth through the bond, trying to hide his own anxiety—he can feel Anakin trying to close himself off.</p>
<p>They’re close enough now they can almost talk.</p>
<p>“Everything alright there, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks.</p>
<p>Anakin’s been alone for a day already. The little house Gonji showed them must have been abandoned for years, but it still has running water, and four walls, and while dusty, it wasn’t even that dirty. Anakin wanted to return to the shuttle to get the crate with the supplies he left there, but Obi-Wan didn’t let him. He doesn’t know if Kawa’s people have found it already, but if they have not, he knows they’ll be looking for it—it’s too dangerous.</p>
<p>“Yes, master,” Anakin replies. He’s not lying, but he’s also not telling the whole truth. “I’m bored, and it gets cold at night here, but I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan frowns. “Do you need something else? I can ask Gonji later to bring you more blankets today, or I can do it myself.”</p>
<p>“Master, I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan pauses. “Alright.”</p>
<p>He’ll ask Gonji about the blanket anyway.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan changes the subject.</p>
<p>“Have you been meditating? And practicing your katas?” he asks, just to feel Anakin’s exasperation—Obi-Wan smiles: he can almost hear his padawan’s groan. “Have you, padawan?”</p>
<p>“More or less?” Anakin finally answers.</p>
<p>So that’s a no on the meditation.</p>
<p>“Anakin,” Obi-Wan begins, trying to keep his own frustration out of the bond, “I know it’s hard, especially here and now, but you should try.”</p>
<p>“I do!” Anakin’s all hurt feelings about such an unfair assessment. “You know I always try, master, it’s just that—“</p>
<p>“I know you do, Anakin, but sometimes I just think you don’t try hard enough,” Obi-Wan answers. Anakin keeps quiet: he’s hurt, this time for real, guilt and shame and frustration and something very like anger pulsing between them.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan grimaces. He doesn’t think he’s wrong, but that might have been too harsh. “I’ll help you tonight. It’ll be good for me as well. The past few days have been... well.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan stops talking—he’s not helping.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Anakin says. He doesn’t sound very excited about the prospect.</p>
<p>For a while, they focus on anything but each other. Obi-Wan reaches out with his mind: Hercules’s awake—and already drinking downstairs—and so are Repo and Spadaro. Gonji’s tired and anxious.</p>
<p>Kawa’s complex down the road is another hub of activity. Whoever tried to reach him the other day is awake and alert, and so is the Mandalorian, his presence in the Force already familiar despite his <em>beskar’gam</em>—or maybe because of it.</p>
<p>“Master?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Anakin?”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s surprised Anakin has broken his silence—Obi-Wan’s become very familiar with his padawan’s silent sulks for the past few months.</p>
<p>“I’ve been thinking,” Anakin begins. Obi-Wan smiles to himself.</p>
<p>“Always a dangerous thing,” he says, gentle. “What have you been thinking about, Anakin?”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t the Order have sent someone to look for us already, master? I mean,” Anakin stops, and Obi-Wan can feel his mind working, sharp and fast. “We’ve been here for days, and we weren’t able to send them a message when we first got here. They must be worried.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t disagree. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, but he also finds it worrying.</p>
<p>By now Obi-Wan’s old enough—and observant enough, and he supposes that cynical enough, too—to know that the Jedi Order in general and specifically the Council are not as perfect and infallible as they like to let everyone think. He was first made aware of this during his own apprenticeship, and time’s done nothing but reinforce this impression. Obi-Wan believes in the Order, he respects and even likes the Councilors, and by now he’s learned to reconcile these two thoughts in his head.</p>
<p>They usually keep an eye on things like this, however. The Order should have seen at least a couple starfighters already, or a shuttle.</p>
<p>“I know,” Obi-Wan replies. “I agree with you.”</p>
<p>Something very like shock, followed by warm pride, follows Obi-Wan’s answer. He frowns—does he really praise him so little, that his padawan feels such a feeling of elation after such a small thing?</p>
<p>“What should we do, master?”</p>
<p>“We can only do what we are already doing, Anakin,” Obi-Wan answers.</p>
<p>“So nothing,” Anakin replies after a beat. The bond drips sarcasm.</p>
<p>“<em>Anakin</em>.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, master.”</p>
<p>They let go of their connection at the same time.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan opens his eyes. He’s still shivering, but the room feels warmer already, and the window’s dirty glass is tinted gold with sunrise. The long expanse of the plains stretches out on the other side of the glass.</p>
<p>He steps into the tiny fresher and washes his face trying not to look too hard at his reflection. He hasn’t shaved since they got there, and his growing beard changes his face. It makes him look older, like someone else. There’s not much of Knight Kenobi in the man Obi-Wan sees in the mirror. The stranger’s dirty and bruised; his nose is peeling, and when Obi-Wan steps closer to the mirror he finds with a certain amount of shock that apparently he’s <em>tanning</em>.</p>
<p>He’s reasonably sure that’s never happened before.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan looks like the thing he’s told everyone he is: a bounty hunter, a <em>beroya</em>, a ‘karking <em>mushirani</em>,’ like Anakin called him not so many days ago.</p>
<p>They feel like a lifetime.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks at his reflection. The stranger half-smiles back at him, a furrow on his brow and the smirk dripping bitter humour.</p>
<p>“Get a hold on yourself, Kenobi,” he tells himself, and then turns his back on the mirror and leaves the fresher.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Obi-Wan puts on his jacket, grabs his blaster and his knives—and they’re his by now, he’s used them on other people more than once, and isn’t that something else he wishes he wasn’t getting used to—and after locking his door behind himself he climbs down the stairs, his boots making the old mix of synthwood and plasteel creak.</p>
<p>He’s surrounded by sleeping minds, but on the ground floor there are people moving around already. Hercules and Repo are in the medbay—the Latero still feels weak, but he’s stubborn: Obi-Wan thinks he’ll be just fine—and Spadaro’s in his office.</p>
<p>There’s a big Devaronian of indeterminate gender in the brothel’s former bar. They’re sitting at the bar and munching absently on a ration bar, and there’s what looks like an ale mug full of dark, tar-like caf in front of them.</p>
<p>Their left ear flicks when Obi-Wan approaches the open door, and they look over their shoulder. Obi-Wan’s seen them around before, but he doesn’t know their name—however, they obviously know his. The Force resonates with a mix of recognition and mild curiosity, and they nod their chin and point to the empty seat beside them.</p>
<p>“This seat’s free, if you don’t mind the company so early in the morning,” they say. Obi-Wan blinks, more shocked by their voice than by the sentiment. The Devaronian has a beautiful voice, silky and deep. An ugly white scar splits their face in two and one of their horns has a broken off point.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Obi-Wan answers. He’d rather keep his own company, but he needs all the allies he can find. Obi-Wan crosses the room, his steps loud in the early morning quiet, and leaves his jacket on the free stool to the Devaronian’s left. Afterwards, he offers his right hand, and says, “I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>The Devaronian smiles. Instead of shaking his hand, they grab Obi-Wan’s arm in a warrior’s hold.</p>
<p>“Nice to meet you, mister Ben. I am Lara. I’ve heard much about you,” they answer. They release Obi-Wan’s arm and stand up to lean over the bar to grab something from the shelves on the other side.</p>
<p>“Just Ben, please,” Obi-Wan replies. He accepts with a muttered ‘thank you’ the mug Lara hands him, and then stands up and goes to grab the caf pot himself. It’s mostly empty, despite the early hour—with a glance in Lara’s direction, Obi-Wan guesses why. Obi-Wan grabs two ration bars from the open box on the counter and then returns to his stool.</p>
<p>For a while, he and Lara eat in silence, and Obi-Wan uses the chance to carefully probe at their mind—their shields are decent for a non-Force sensitive, but he can tell that they’re tired, exhausted, really. They’re anxious as well: they’re worried about something, and Obi-Wan’s willing to bet that it has to do with him: they won’t stop glancing at him from the corner of their eye.</p>
<p>It doesn’t feel hostile, so after a while Obi-Wan decides to do something about it.</p>
<p>“You look like you’d like to say something,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes low, fixed on his cup of caf. They feel like the kind of person who appreciates honesty.</p>
<p>The Devaronian chuckles, slightly embarrassed.</p>
<p>“Forgive me. I did not wish to make you feel uncomfortable,” they answer, “but I’ve never been good at being subtle.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan smiles at them—he’s shocked to find that he means it, too: he likes the way they feel in the Force.</p>
<p>“That’s fine. As long as it isn’t for anything bad,” Obi-Wan jokes. He sips his caf and makes a face—it’s truly horrid.</p>
<p>“Oh, no, not at all,” they say. Lara sets back their mug on the counter, and turns to look at Obi-Wan. “You helped Repo and Anto, yes? Some days ago.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan nods.</p>
<p>“Repo is a good friend. I have heard he is alive thanks to you,” Lara explains. They place their hand on their chest, over their heart, and bow their head. “I owe you a debt.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks and stops with one of his ration bars half-way to his mouth. Slowly, he lowers it again.</p>
<p>“No, it’s—that won’t be necessary,” Obi-Wan says. “It’s what anyone would have done.”</p>
<p>It’s a lie, and Lara seems to know it as well, but they smile and nod and fall quiet, and then leave Obi-Wan to finish his breakfast in silence.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Obi-Wan hasn’t been given any new orders—and that’s another thing he’d rather not get used to, to the familiarity of routine, to feeling that this new life he’s adopted is real—and after he’s done with what passes as breakfast he finds himself at a loss.</p>
<p>He needs to find himself a new shirt, to replace the one he’s been wearing for the past few days, but first he decides to go and see how Repo’s feeling.</p>
<p>He’s in a square little room next to the infirmary. There’s a small, round window high up on one of the walls, the glass dirty and cracked—the early morning light fills it and turns the air gold. Repo is lying in one of the two cots, clearly asleep; the other one’s empty. It smells weirdly familiar, of disinfectant, bacta and the metallic scent that all med-droids seem to share, sweet and cold and cloying.</p>
<p>The one Obi-Wan remembers is standing still in the corner closest to the Latero’s bed. It’s charging itself, but one of the lights on its chest keeps blinking, and Obi-Wan’s familiar enough with med-droids to know that that means it’s keeping watch on its only patient. When it detects Obi-Wan’s presence, it raises itself and looks at him.</p>
<p>“Do you require assistance?” the droid says. Obi-Wan smiles reflexively, shakes his head, and looks back at Repo.</p>
<p>“No, thank you,” he answers, his voice low. “How’s your patient?”</p>
<p>“Patient Repo Frisse is stable. Patient Repo Frisse will be released in two point—“</p>
<p>The Latero grunts. He opens his eyes. He’s been awake for at least ten minutes, but Obi-Wan was happy to let him keep faking his sleep—Repo’s better than he was a few days ago, but he’s still not healed. He feels exhausted and weak and hurt, and he’s not yet completely out of the woods.</p>
<p>Repo got lucky—if Spadaro’s men had arrived at the warehouse just a few minutes later, he would have died.</p>
<p>“Patient Repo Frisse is awake.”</p>
<p>“Please make that thing shut its mouth, kid,” Repo says, his voice rough. He curses under his breath in a language that Obi-Wan doesn’t understand. He tries to sit up in the bed, winces, and then gives up.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t need to do anything—the droid shuts itself up, its silence almost offended, and it stays that way.</p>
<p>The Latero chuckles.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m going to pay for that. That thing has a temper,” he says. Obi-Wan hasn’t met enough of his species to know how they’re supposed to look when they’re healthy, but Repo looks bad even to his ignorant eyes: his face looks almost brown, and his nose and mouth seem dry and cracked. Obi-Wan grabs the water pouch that’s resting on the low table next to Repo’s bed and offers it to him, and he takes it with a trembling hand and drinks some of it in short, shallow sips.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says after he’s done.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing,” Obi-Wan answers. Suddenly awkward, he looks around himself, at the dark med-droid and the low plains he can see through the dirty window. “How’re you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Like I got shot in the gut,” the Latero replies. Obi-Wan snorts. “But it’ll pass, or so they tell me. All thanks to you. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”</p>
<p>This again.</p>
<p>“That’s not necessary,” Obi-Wan says, frowning. “I did what anyone would have done in that situation. You don’t owe me anything.”</p>
<p>The Latero scoffs. He rolls his eyes. “That’s a lie and you know it. I mean,” Repo says, “if it had been just me and Anto that day, we’d both be dead. Don’t think we’re not aware of that.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs. He crosses his arms.</p>
<p>“You saved our lives, kid,” the Latero says with a sardonic half-smile, “you’ll just have to learn to live with that.”</p>
<p>“Very well,” Obi-Wan finally replies. “I will try.”</p>
<p>Repo laughs, low, and then grunts in pain.</p>
<p>“I hate gut wounds,” he says. He drinks some more and glances to the med-droid.</p>
<p>“Been shot many times before?”</p>
<p>“More than I’d like but less than you’d think. Looking at this place now you wouldn’t think so, but Tchuta-1 used to be a pretty quiet place. The worst thing about it, if you ignore the weather, were the Hutts. And it’s not as if they ever visit.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan laughs softly.</p>
<p>“Have you been living here long?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Almost a decade. Used to work in the mines, doing droid maintenance for the miners,” Repo says. He falls quiet and lowers his eyes. “This used to be a nice place. Poor and boring and not very pretty, but it wasn’t a bad place to live.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you leave?” Obi-Wan asks after a while.</p>
<p>Repo shrugs, his four shoulder joints moving at the same time, and then winces in pain once again.</p>
<p>“I’m too old, kid. Too old to start again somewhere else. And anyway,” Repo finishes, half-smiling, “where the hell would I go?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kawa has been pacing the length of the room since Jango got there. Most of her men cluster around the long table, avoiding Jango and Calanta and Kawa herself the best they can. Jango crosses his arms tighter, and tries not to give in to the temptation to lean on the wall next to the door.</p>
<p>It took him the rest of the evening and a good part of the night, but he did find the kid’s footprints. First on the road and afterwards close to the town, where they disappeared. Big feet for a teenager, booted and walking fast, almost running.</p>
<p>Jango thinks the kid tried to hide his tracks, but he didn’t do a very good job: whoever has trained him—and the kid’s been trained, Jango doesn’t doubt that for an instant: he doesn’t know why Kawa’s looking for him, what she wants the kid for, but someone has taught the boy how to erase nav logs, how to move, how to <em>survive</em>—hasn’t taught him how to disappear.</p>
<p>They should.</p>
<p>Kawa stops pacing and approaches the head of the table—her men fall quiet. She looks tired, anxious—her bright green eyes look puffy and red, and her right hand twitches, her claw-like nails reflecting the pale light that comes in through the window at her back.</p>
<p>Jango half-listens to her while she talks: he doesn’t need to hear her to know what she’s saying. Something about the boy, about the shuttle, about the fact that the boy from the shuttle’s very probably in the town. She threatens, she gloats, she promises: she’s good at all of those things, and Jango keeps an eye on her public—quite against his will, he’s found himself turned into a silent witness to the way she plays with them.</p>
<p>This is the real reason Kawa has made it this far: she’s clever and she’s ruthless, yes, but she’s also very good at <em>people</em>. Her men fear her, but they also listen to her. Even Calanta, who Jango’s mostly sure has her own reasons for being there, pays attention to her, her yellow eyes following the Zabrak when she moves around the room.</p>
<p>Neither of them has said anything about the heating unit, or the new ration packs, or the water cans Jango stole and gave to his son. As far as Eul’alia knows, Kawa doesn’t even know about them—the Twi’lek has kept quiet, more out of fear than loyalty, and it appears Calanta has as well.</p>
<p>It <em>is</em> convenient, but Jango doesn’t like not knowing what Calanta is playing at. He doesn’t like not knowing what’s her real goal, what she’s expecting to gain by playing nice. It’s not kindness: Calanta’s first and foremost a professional.</p>
<p>The problem is that, as far as Jango knows, she’s working for Kawa. Jango’s been doing this kind of thing for long enough he’s learned to recognise when his mind has made some kind of connection and it’s just waiting for the rest of him to catch up.</p>
<p>Someone calls him, and Jango blinks and raises his head, tucking the idea in a dark corner of his mind to pick at later.</p>
<p>“Fett’s done this thing I’ve asked of you in half a day,” Kawa is saying. “He’s found where our quarry is hiding, and now the only thing left for us to do is find the kid. It shouldn’t be hard, but that’s what I thought about finding the shuttle. Try not to disappoint me again, friends.”</p>
<p>She’s smiling while she says that—she’s the only one.</p>
<p>After a beat, someone breaks the silence. The Togruta male Jango remembers from a few days ago advances a step. He’s tall and broad-shouldered: his bright white and blue montrals almost touch the ceiling. There’s a scar on his face that pulls up his upper lip an reveals the tip of a sharp fang.</p>
<p>“Why do we need to find him, boss?” the Togruta asks, and if the room was quiet before, now it’s so silent Jango thinks he’d be able to hear all their heartbeats without his buy’ce’s help. “We will find the Human for you, but we’d like to know why. Why is it so important for us to find him?”</p>
<p>For a beat, Kawa just looks at him, still smiling, her head slightly tilted to the right. The gesture is not friendly: Jango can see her sharp canines from where he’s standing, and when he glances back at the Togruta, he isn’t surprised to see that the man’s also snarling.</p>
<p>“One could say that you need to find the Human because I’ve told you so,” Kawa finally says, still smiling with a mouth full of teeth. The Togruta scowls, but he stands his ground and keeps silent. “But I get where you’re coming from. Not so long ago I had to work under a certain red bastard who not only stole from me, from all of us, but also always expected me to do what he told me to without telling me why.”</p>
<p>Kawa stops talking. She looks around herself, making sure she has all their attention, that their eyes are all focused on her.</p>
<p>Jango snorts in the privacy of his helmet. She should have been a holonet star, or a politician.</p>
<p>“So I will tell you. I’ll explain why I need you people to get off your asses and find a single human child,” she continues. She crosses her arms and leans on the table, and returns her gaze to the Togruta. “D’you like your new guns, Red? That shiny new vibroblade I’ve seen you fiddling with? The new carnivore ration packs?”</p>
<p>Red isn’t sure if it’s a rhetorical question or not. After a beat he nods.</p>
<p>“Do you know where they came from?” Kawa asks him. Red shakes his head. He’s stopped snarling, but he’s still far from relaxed—it’s all on his shoulders.</p>
<p>“No. I don’t,” the Togruta answers. “You never said.”</p>
<p>“And you never asked.”</p>
<p>Kawa looks at the faces of the men and women that fill the big room. There are more than Jango expected—almost twenty beings, of different species, all of them young and hungry.</p>
<p>“Those weapons, as well as the money, and the fuel, and the food... those things were given to me, to us, with the expectation that in exchange we’d be able to down that shuttle and find the kid,” Kawa says slowly, as if she were speaking to a room full of children. Jango rises a brow and keeps quiet—they’ve forgotten about him.</p>
<p>“What do you think will happen if we’re not able to produce the results we promised?” Kawa raises her hands in the air. Her men may be keeping their silence, but they aren’t yet convinced by what she’s saying. “Maybe they’ll take them back—or maybe they’ll give them to somebody else.”</p>
<p>And there it is. Her last words make them react: the Togruta scowls, and someone curses under their breath in a language Jango doesn’t know.</p>
<p>“Maybe I should’ve told you this before, and for that I will accept the blame,” Kawa says, “but it doesn’t change anything. We were given guns and food and credits in exchange of a promise; sooner or later, our benefactor will want to collect.</p>
<p>Now stop wasting our time and go find that fucking kid.”</p>
<p>The men and women begin to file out of the room talking among themselves. The Zabrak watches them go, the shadow of a smirk on her face and her eyes far away. She looks drained.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, Jango wonders about Kawa’s employer: they must be rich and powerful enough they aren’t scared of meddling with the Hutts’ own property so close to their territory. It could be another syndicate, but it doesn’t make sense—they wouldn’t be so interested in some Human kid.</p>
<p>“Fett.” Calanta steps in front of him. Jango looks at her, scowling under his buy’ce—he didn’t sense her coming. “I want you with me.”</p>
<p>Jango looks at Kawa over Calanta’s shoulder—the Zabrak’s ignoring them. She’s looking through the window, her arms crossed and her shoulders hunched and tense.</p>
<p>When Calanta goes out the door, Jango follows her.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kawa’s men and women fan out in the direction of the town, but Jango stays back with Calanta. Eul’alia falls into step behind him. She keeps glancing at them, lekku tense with anxiety and a frown on her forehead. Her long rifle hangs from Eul’alia’s right shoulder, and she keeps playing with the butt where it lies low behind her right thigh.</p>
<p>“Girl. You know the Ithorian from the cantina, yes?” Calanta asks her. The Human’s a short woman, but her way of walking eats the ground, and Jango finds himself having to hurry to keep up with her. Calanta doesn’t bother looking back at them, her face hidden by the wide brim of her hat and her ropy, scarred forearms naked and brown under the sun. It’s early, but the air is already hot and dry, and Jango can hear the buzzing of insects, the whisper of the wind whistling through the empty streets.</p>
<p>The Twi’lek is taller than both of them, but she also finds it hard to keep up with Calanta, Eul’alia’s long gun hitting her hip. She looks anxious, scared, and when she hears the question it takes her a long second to answer.</p>
<p>“Not well.”</p>
<p>Calanta stops walking suddenly, turns around to look at the other woman. The Twi’lek stumbles over her own feet in her efforts not to touch her.</p>
<p>“Kid,” Calanta begins, “do not lie to me. I will know and I won’t care for the reason.”</p>
<p>She speaks quietly, plainly—there’s nothing of Kawa’s boastful arrogance in her words. Calanta is just a thin, old woman, but Eul’alia shudders and avoids her yellow gaze, holding the strap of her rifle with pale knuckles.</p>
<p>“My mother was friends with him,” she finally admits in a low voice. “But that was a very long time ago. When she died we lost contact.”</p>
<p>Calanta hums. She swats at an insect that’s going for her face and begins to walk once again. Jango falls in step with her, Eul’alia at his back, keeping him between the woman and herself.</p>
<p>“So he’ll remember you,” she tells the Twi’lek. “Is that good? Or do I need to send you away? Be honest.”</p>
<p>Eul’alia keeps quiet for a beat, and Calanta lets her be—it’s a thinking silence. When Jango looks at the Twi’lek over his shoulder he sees the slight frown on her face, the way her dark eyes look at nothing.</p>
<p>“I honestly don’t know,” Eul’alia finally answers. “He will know who I am, but I don’t know if he’ll be happy to see me. I don’t think he likes Kawa much.”</p>
<p>Calanta snorts. She turns to look at Jango.</p>
<p>“What do you say, Fett? Do I tell her to stay with the others?”</p>
<p>Jango already knows what his answer will be, but makes her wait for it.</p>
<p>“No,” he finally says.</p>
<p>“Why? We need his good will, after all,” Calanta asks him. Jango scowls—he has a feeling she already knows, and he doesn’t like being condescended to in that way.</p>
<p>“We don’t. We just need him to talk,” he replies, curt. “And it’ll be easier if he feels... out of his depth. Destabilized.”</p>
<p>Calanta barks a laugh, loud and rough and bitter and short. Eul’alia jumps.</p>
<p>“Very good, Fett,” Calanta says. She then turns to the Twi’lek, and looks her over, from head to toe. “I want you to talk.”</p>
<p>Eul’alia blinks.</p>
<p>“What do you want me to say,” she asks, her voice defeated.</p>
<p>Calanta waves her right hand in the air. “That’s not important. Just talk. Say whatever.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Calanta shortens and slows her stride once they approach the main street of the settlement, and Jango adjusts the way he walks as well and hears Eul’alia do the same thing at his back.</p>
<p>The guards at Spadaro’s brothel look at them, at the rest of Kawa’s people middling around the town, and one of them—probably Human, maybe male—disappears through its door while Jango’s watching.</p>
<p>Calanta doesn’t look at them. She glances around the town, her yellow eyes hard beneath her hat and her mouth twisted in a small disgusted smile. She looks on while the men and women under her charge try doors and windows, while they talk to someone through one that’s open barely a crack, while they leave the town in the direction of the spaceport, of the little farms and abandoned residences that dot the nearby fields.</p>
<p>There’s a cluster of them in front of what must be the cantina. Two men, one woman, the three of them tense and keeping their distance, talking to someone that’s just standing there on the open door under the porch.</p>
<p>Jango blinks, zooms in with his HUD, and then grunts.</p>
<p>“What?” Calanta glances at him, and then scowls when she sees what he’s looking at. Something very like hatred fills her yellow eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” Eul’alia asks, alarmed. Jango doesn’t answer: she’ll find out soon enough.</p>
<p>Jango should have known Spadaro’s bounty hunter would be there. The Human watches them, his gaze fixed on Calanta, and doesn’t move from the cantina’s entrance, keeps leaning on its side with a glass of something golden in one hand and the other resting on the butt of his blaster.</p>
<p>He’s wearing a dark red shirt that’s too tight around his shoulders and a wide brimmed dark hat very like Calanta’s own.</p>
<p>“Good morning,” the beroya says when they get close enough for the shadow of the porch to reach them. “Or is it afternoon?”</p>
<p>Apparently he’s called Ben. Jango hasn’t had to ask about him—he’s become a small celebrity in the little time he’s been on Tchuta-1.</p>
<p>A greater shadow moves at his back, and Jango sees the long head of an Ithorian—that must be the owner. He grabs Ben’s shoulder and pushes him aside. The Human frowns, looks at him over the big hand on his shoulder for a beat, and then obeys, disappears inside the cantina.</p>
<p>The Ithorian clicks his translator on and then crosses his arms, huge and tall on the door of his bar.</p>
<p>“No fighting here,” he says. He looks first at Jango, and then at Calanta, and finally his eyes stop on Eul’alia, hanging back behind them, clearly uncomfortable. The Ithorian’s big eyes blink once, twice. “You know the rules.”</p>
<p>“We do,” Calanta agrees. “We don’t want trouble. We are here to ask some questions and maybe buy a drink or two.”</p>
<p>The Ithorian nods. His eyes keep drifting to Eul’alia, and the woman smiles, awkward and crooked but almost sincere.</p>
<p>“Hello, Gonji. Been a long time,” she says.</p>
<p>For a beat, the Ithorian just looks at her, quiet and still in the cool shadows of his cantina, and then nods again before disappearing through the door.</p>
<p>They follow him in: first Jango, then Eul’alia and—after telling the other three to stay outside and out of trouble—Calanta. Ben’s leaning on the bar, his glass next to his elbow and his jacket over one of the stools. He looks like he’s been there for a while, but Jango doesn’t think he’s drunk. His light eyes look at them with cold intensity. He’s still smiling, but the expression is more a mask than anything else: it hides more than it reveals.</p>
<p>Calanta takes a seat on one of the stools, and after a second of hesitation Eul’alia imitates her. Jango doesn’t. He stays close to the door, leans on the wall, and peers at the other man. The reddish stubble he remembers from that first fight is turning into a full beard. It may make the beroya look older, but it does little to hide how tired the man looks, the scratches on his face, or the burn scars from the exploding speeder.</p>
<p>He must feel Jango looking, because he moves his gaze from Calanta and blinks at him before nodding in Jango’s direction.</p>
<p>“We meet again,” Ben says, his warm voice filing the tense silence inside the cantina easily. “Let’s hope this time it goes better for both of us.”</p>
<p>Jango scowls under his buy’ce and doesn’t answer.</p>
<p>The barkeep steps behind the counter.</p>
<p>“No fighting here,” he repeats, clearly exasperated.</p>
<p>Calanta nods. She takes off her hat and leaves it on the bar in front of her.</p>
<p>“We’re not here looking for trouble,” she begins. “Right, Eul’alia?”</p>
<p>The Twi’lek shakes her head.</p>
<p>The Ithorian doesn’t believe them. He takes their orders—Corellian whiskey for Calanta, something that Jango doesn’t recognise for Eul’alia, nothing for Jango—and then prepares their drinks.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Jango keeps glancing at Ben—the Human’s doing the same in turn. The beroya keeps his peace, keeps taking sips of whatever it is in his glass, but he doesn’t look like he’s planning to go anywhere, even if both Gonji and Calanta keep throwing looks at him.</p>
<p>“Don’t mind me,” he says after a while. “I’m just here to drink.”</p>
<p>Gonji frowns in his direction and Calanta fixes him with her yellow eyes shining strangely under her hat.</p>
<p>Silence slowly fills the cantina. It feels heavy, dense, like a ball of lead or a spice headache. Jango’s hands want to grab for his blasters, for any of his weapons, but he stays where he is. Eul’alia has her hands on the counter, trying so hard not to move them they’re trembling.</p>
<p>The building creaks in the quiet and steps and the rumour of conversations come in from the street. Finally, Calanta turns to the Ithorian.</p>
<p>“We’re looking for someone,” she says. “A boy. Human. Must be around fourteen or so. Fair skin, light brown hair.”</p>
<p>The Ithorian stares at her without blinking. His translator is on, and it’s so quiet Jango can hear its faint electrical humming, the static scratching noise it produces every time the man breathes.</p>
<p>On the other end of the counter, Ben shifts his weight, his face suddenly blank, the smile gone like smoke. It isn’t shock—Jango can’t tell what it <em>is</em>. It’s like a veil has dropped between the persona Ben has been parading around—slightly cocky, good humoured, competent but nothing out of the ordinary—and the world: the man is just not there, and whatever’s left feels like a stranger.</p>
<p>It lasts for barely a second, and Jango’s half-sure he’s the only one who sees it, but he knows he’ll remember it.</p>
<p>“What has the boy done?” the Ithorian asks. He’s perfectly still, but his big hands keep twitching where he keeps them low at his side. “There are no children in this town anymore.”</p>
<p>There is a strange mix of bitterness and nostalgia in the last word. Jango glances back at Eul’alia: she’s frowning down at the counter, shoulders hunched and eyes far away. Her lekku are curled protectively around her neck—she’s trying to comfort herself.</p>
<p>“He hasn’t done anything, he’s just a kid,” Calanta answers. She smiles—she’s laughing at a joke nobody else has been told. “He’s lost.”</p>
<p>A beat, and then:</p>
<p>“Have you seen him?”</p>
<p>The Ithorian’s hands twitch again, and Ben shifts again, his gaze fixed on Calanta. He has a small frown on his forehead. The woman, however, has her eyes on Gonji, her face intent and calm and perfectly agreeable.</p>
<p>Suddenly, she winces and blinks.</p>
<p>“No. I haven’t seen anything. If I do you will be the first to know,” the Ithorian says. The second rate translator turns his voice into something flat and mechanical, and Ithorians are notoriously hard to read, but Jango is pretty sure he’s lying. His big hands have begun to tremble.</p>
<p>Calanta glares at the man, and stands up to lean on the counter, her hands splaying like pale spiders over the scratched and dirty durasteel. She’s much shorter than him, but the man takes a step back, his enormous shoulders tense. Ben quietly leaves his glass on the counter and turns to face them fully.</p>
<p>When he stands up from his stool, Jango can’t help but sigh.</p>
<p>A shot rings in the street outside, and Eul’alia jumps out of her seat. Calanta grabs her hat and leaves the cantina without looking back, and suddenly Jango is alone in there with Ben and the Ithorian: both look at him like they’re waiting to see what they’ll do.</p>
<p>Someone yells out on the street, and Ben sighs and rubs the stubble on his jaw. He cocks his head in the direction of the door.</p>
<p>“We might as well go see what the kark is going on now,” Ben says, and he sounds so... fundamentally<em> exhausted</em> Jango can’t help but snort, low and mostly hidden by his buy’ce.</p>
<p>He follows Ben outside. The Ithorian stays in his bar, and the last Jango sees of him is his lowered head—he’s taken a seat on one of his own stools.</p>
<p>Jango and the other Human stay on the steps that connect the porch to the dirt street, side by side. Ben has a hand on his blaster. He looks thinner and grimmer and more ragged than the last time Jango saw him. It fits him.</p>
<p>Ben must feel him staring. He glances at Jango, there and gone, before putting on his hat.</p>
<p>Ben nods in the direction of Spadaro’s brothel. Calanta is already there, and she’s talking to one of her men, a spindly Rodian who keeps pointing at the place. There are people there, leaning out the main door and also looking through the open windows—Jango zooms in with his HUD, and sighs when he sees the familiar silhouette of blaster rifles.</p>
<p>Kawa’s men are keeping their distance—that won’t last. Jango glances again at Ben, wondering what he’ll do, and finds the other man looking at him in turn. Ben snorts, his light eyes shining full of humour under the brim of his hat.</p>
<p>“If we’re very quiet maybe they’ll forget about us,” Ben says under his breath, his voice dripping sarcasm. Jango tilts his helmet in the direction of the street: Calanta is already looking for him with her eyes, trying to look over everyone else’s shoulders. She has one gnarled hand on Eul’alia’s shoulder, and the Twi’lek looks incredibly uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“Keep telling yourself that,” Jango answers.</p>
<p>Ben’s low curse is filthy. With a last look in Jango’s direction and a smile, he steps off the porch.</p>
<p>Jango should just shoot him in the back—it’d make things easier for him, that’s for sure.</p>
<p>He scowls at himself and then follows the other man down.</p>
<p>Ben stays close to the cantina, eyeing the small crowd from under his hat, but Jango approaches them directly, aware of the way their attention is fixed on him. When Calanta sees him, she lets go of Eul’alia. She looks more annoyed than angry.</p>
<p>“Making friends with Spadaro’s hunter?” she asks Jango. “Careful with that man, Fett.”</p>
<p>“I’ve fought him and won twice,” Jango answers, flat. The woman barks out a laugh full of scorn.</p>
<p>“Next time try to kill him, then. He’s a headache,” she replies. She looks back at Ben, so quick Jango barely sees it, and for an instant her face changes, something that might be apprehension flashing in her yellow eyes.</p>
<p>That’s interesting.</p>
<p>“I told Kawa I would,” Jango answers. And he will, even if he doesn’t particularly want to and is finding it harder than he thought he would.</p>
<p>“I know. We remember,” Calanta says. She looks back to the crowd and scowls. “This is going to get ugly.”</p>
<p>With a bit of luck they’ll kill each other now and Jango’ll have one less thing to deal with.</p>
<p>The sun’s very high up on the pale blue sky, and the shadows are short and small. Jango’s comfortable in his kute, but he can feel the heat of the sun despite the insulated fabric—everyone else must be slowly cooking.</p>
<p>“What’s happened?,” he makes himself ask. Calanta snorts, her eyes on the rest of the group. A huge Devaronian with an even bigger gun has appeared on the main door, and as deterrents go it appears to be working.</p>
<p>“They got too close to the brothel,” Calanta answers. “The guards didn’t like it.”</p>
<p>Jango looks around himself—the few inhabitants of the settlement are safely behind closed doors, and most of the groups Kawa sent to search for the boy are right there.</p>
<p>“We won’t find shit with this going on,” Calanta says under her breath.</p>
<p>“I could find him in a cycle,” Jango hears himself say.</p>
<p>Calanta turns to look at him, and Jango can feel her trying to guess at what’s going on beneath his buy’ce from the way she tilts her head and the slight furrow on her forehead.</p>
<p>“You could, couldn’t you,” she finally answers. “I’ll tell Kawa later.”</p>
<p>“I will want something in exchange.”</p>
<p>“We all want things, Fett,” she stops, looks back to the brothel: something must be going on inside. “That doesn’t mean we’ll get them.”</p>
<p>Jango hears a gasp, and turns back to look at the front of the brothel. There is a red Twi’lek at the door. The man looks tired, spindly, easy to break, but he isn’t scared. He has a beat up shotgun blaster in his right hand, and he looks at the crowd in front of the building with cold, dark eyes.</p>
<p>“Is there a problem?,” the Twi’lek asks, his voice hoarse but easy to hear above the whispers.</p>
<p>Calanta makes her way to the front of the small crowd, and Jango stays where he is, happy to hang back and keep an eye on Ben.</p>
<p>Or try to—the man’s gone.</p>
<p>“Nothing that has anything to do with you,” Calanta says, her voice polite but cold. They look at each other—the Twi’lek must be Spadaro. His face is blank. He has clever eyes, and not for the first time Jango wonders how the hell Kawa has gotten to where she is.</p>
<p>“That would be a first,” Spadaro replies, voice mild. “Since this is my town and all.”</p>
<p>A wave of whispers moves through the crowd, and Jango raises an eyebrow under his helmet.</p>
<p>Ben appears at the Twi’lek’s side. He must have used one of the back alleys to access the back of the building, but Jango should have seen.</p>
<p>The Twi’lek also looks shocked to see him there so suddenly, but just for a beat—afterwards he relaxes further, and even smirks a little, although the only thing Ben is doing is leaning against the wall beside the door, a bland smile on his face. His eyes comb through the crowd, and rest for a beat longer than it’s necessary on Jango.</p>
<p>Calanta is looking at the Twi’lek, her head tilted.</p>
<p>“I thought it was the Hutts’,” she finally says, her voice dripping sarcasm, and the man scowls. He shifts his hands over his shotgun, and his lekku curl behind his back.</p>
<p>“And I represent them in their absence,” he replies, his voice hoarse but cold.</p>
<p>“For now,” Calanta says.</p>
<p>Spadaro keeps quiet. He looks at her, and leans the shotgun on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Get the hell out of here before I make you,” he says, and takes a shot at the sky.</p>
<p>What follows is the sound of more than a dozen blasters coming out of their holsters at the same time. Calanta looks around herself, her own weapon in her right hand, and then sighs. She nods to Spadaro, and then turns away.</p>
<p>When she leaves, the rest of her men follow. Soon, Jango’s the last one left. He tilts his buy’ce in Ben and Spadaro’s direction, and then turns his back on them, guns back in their holsters—Jango’s sure this won’t be the last he sees of them.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“That was... flashy,” Obi-Wan says in the tense silence that fills Spadaro’s office.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s the only Human in the room. There are two Niktos whose names he doesn’t yet know, the big Gamorrean who was there that first and only visit to the office, so many days ago, and Lara, the Devaronian from earlier. When they see Obi-Wan they actually smile at him, the expression surprisingly kind despite the many and very sharp teeth it reveals.</p>
<p>In the Force, the room feels like the engine room of an overworked freighter—overheated and close to exploding. They’re all excited, anxious, or both, and their thoughts batter at Obi-Wan’s mind.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan strengthens his shields and thinks back to Calanta and her yellow eyes. He’s sure she tried to mindtrick Gonji—her technique was blunt, inelegant, pure brute force, but he was Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan not so long ago: he can recognise the signs.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t know if she noticed the way he subtly played interference between her and Gonji’s mind—she might have. She was strong but untrained: she must have been one of the many children the Order never finds. But even without proper instruction she knew enough to try and manipulate another sentient being into doing her bidding.</p>
<p>If not for his presence, Gonji would have talked, and Fett’s presence in the cantina would have been the least of Obi-Wan’s worries.</p>
<p>Anakin pokes at him through their bond, anxiety undercutting the already familiar restlessness and boredom, and Obi-Wan pokes back, trying to transmit the feeling that everything’s going well.</p>
<p>For now, and as well as Obi-Wan thinks it can go, given the circumstances.</p>
<p>Spadaro steps through the open door. He’s still carrying his shotgun in his right hand, and not for the first time it shocks Obi-Wan, how at home the Twi’lek looks with the weapon. It’s an ugly thing, clean but old-fashioned, and it’s well-used, the muzzle scratched and the stock cracked in places. The Twi’lek makes sure its safety is on and then drops it on his desk before walking around the table and dropping down in his chair with a tired grunt.</p>
<p>For a beat, Spadaro just looks at all of them over his linked fingers, his elbow bent and his right lek twitching where it rests over his shoulder. His face still has the calm blankness Obi-Wan has never seen him deviate from.</p>
<p>He isn’t as calm as he looks, of course—in the Force, Spadaro feels almost as nervous as his lieutenants, his thoughts sharp and heavy, something that’s two steps to the left of the frustration that Obi-Wan himself feels hanging like a heavy weight weighing down on his own head.</p>
<p>“This cannot continue,” Spadaro suddenly says. All the eyes in the room are fixed on him, but he’s looking down at his weapon. His hands are trembling, as always, but he doesn’t seem aware of the fact.</p>
<p>One of the Niktos scowls.</p>
<p>“No. It can’t, and it shouldn’t,” he begins. “We should attack the complex, or the space port. If we time it well, we’ll—“</p>
<p>“We tried that once. It didn’t work, and she didn’t have Fett then,” Spadaro interrupts him. He doesn’t raise his voice, but the other man hunches his shoulders. “We are too evenly matched. I may have more men, but she has guns, and Fett, and that snake of a woman.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks—there’s actual venom in his voice when he talks about Calanta.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, Obi-Wan wonders what the kark he’s doing in that room. He can feel that Spadaro trusts them all, to the extent a man like him is capable of trust. But that doesn’t explain why Obi-Wan—who has not given him anything, whose real name Spadaro doesn’t know, who appeared from nothing and for now has managed to do very little—is there.</p>
<p>Spadaro breathes in, breathes out—he’s not especially Force sensitive, but Obi-Wan feels how he reaches inside himself, how he forces himself to calm down. Whatever he’s decided to do, whatever he’s going to say now, he doesn’t like it: and he’s sure his men will like it even less.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan crosses his arms and leans against the wall, and waits.</p>
<p>“We— <em>I</em> need help,” Spadaro says. He looks around himself, his dark eyes stopping a beat on each one of their faces. Spadaro feels like a cold, black pond: the anxiety is gone. “The kind of help I cannot trust the Hutts to give.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan frowns. He has a bad feeling about this.</p>
<p>Lara clears their throat. They’re fiddling with the strap of their belt, their head lowered so that their horns don’t scratch the low ceiling. “If they wanted to help us,” they begin, “they would have already.”</p>
<p>Spadaro nods. “Indeed.”</p>
<p>A beat of silence. Obi-Wan’s not the only one who’s frowning.</p>
<p>“You’re thinking about asking for outside help,” one of the Niktos says. He exchanges a look with the other Nikto at his side. A dangerous mix of anxiety, fear and anger whirls around him. “To who? The Republic?”</p>
<p>Spadaro scoffs.</p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” he spits. “I doubt the Republic even knows this place exists, and if they did, they wouldn’t risk their relationship with the Hutts this close to Hutt space.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks, something cold and heavy settling in his stomach.</p>
<p>Spadaro isn’t wrong.</p>
<p>“No, not the Republic,” the Twi’lek continues. He looks at them again, and something very close to real fear seems to break the cold, dark surface of his mind before he ruthlessly strangles it again. “I was thinking of Black Sun. Or any of the other cartels. We have something they need, something they want. We have unrefined rhydonium. And if the Hutts won’t help us protect the mines, we need to find someone who will.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan can’t help the admiration that slowly fills him. It’s bold, and it might go badly, but as plans go it might work.</p>
<p>“How are you planning to contact them?” he asks, surprising himself. “Kawa still has a hold on the space port and they are jamming all communications.”</p>
<p>Spadaro smiles, quick, a flash of sharp teeth in the low light, there and gone.</p>
<p>“This moon is big enough to need more than one spaceport,” he begins, “and Kawa’s reach is not that long yet.”</p>
<p>Lara is frowning, clearly confused, and so are the Niktos.</p>
<p>“Which one of us do you want to go?” Obi-Wan asks with a sigh. He won’t be Spadaro’s choice—after all, the man’s not known him for even a week yet.</p>
<p>At the same time, it would make sense to send someone who is not an integral part of his organization, who can be easily sacrificed and replaced.</p>
<p>It would make things easier. Obi-Wand would find a way to take Anakin with him, and they’d be able to leave through the other spaceport somehow.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan then remembers Fett’s child, and the sharp pang of guilt makes him want to scowl despite himself. But no—Anakin’s his priority. Once he’s out of there, back on Coruscant, where it’s safe, maybe Obi-Wan will be able to do something to help the child, to help his father.</p>
<p>The Council would never approve of a return trip, and Obi-Wan doesn’t think Jango Fett would accept a Jedi’s help, anyway. Not even to help him get his child back.</p>
<p>Spadaro’s been looking at them in silence for a while. He’s clearly thinking, his mind trying to decide—that means Obi-Wan’s right.</p>
<p>He looks around himself, trying to get a feel about what the man’s lieutenants think about it. One of the Niktos severely dislikes the idea for some reason, but he’s keeping quiet, even if he’s not as good as Obi-Wan at masking what he feels, but the other three seem mostly fine about it.</p>
<p>Finally, Spadaro blinks—he’s made his choice.</p>
<p>“You,” he says, pointing at the other Nikto. Obi-Wan waits, his breath held tight in his chest. When the Twi’lek’s eyes stop on the Devaronian instead of on him, something bitter fills his mouth. “And you.”</p>
<p><em>Kark</em>.</p>
<p>Spadaro turns to Obi-Wan, the Gamorrean and the other Nikto, the angry one—and Obi-Wan really needs to find out what he’s called, he can’t keep calling him the angry one in his head—and looks at them over his hands.</p>
<p>“You three will take charge of things here while they’re gone,” he says. “It shouldn’t be more than five days.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks, confused, but keeps quiet.</p>
<p>His confusion might be apparent, however, because Spadaro scoffs.</p>
<p>“You went toe to toe with Fett and survived. Twice. And you protected the warehouse,” Spadaro says. He smiles, bitter. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Boba’s been less than twenty minutes outside, but he’s already white with dust and has found one of the tookas he’s been watching from his window.</p>
<p>It’s the first time Boba has been let out in more than a week. Jango doesn’t know what made Kawa change her mind. The child struggles with the weight of his collar, and he’s sweating and getting red under the hot sun, and he’s still coughing on and off—but he also looks healthier than he’s looked in days. His dark eyes look around with something that’s not the familiar mix of boredom, frustration and fear: he looks like he’s having the time of his life.</p>
<p>If not for the shabla collar it could be two, three weeks ago—Jango ignores the looks some of Kawa’s goons keep throwing at him, and keeps his attention on his son, and on the animal he’s decided to befriend, and lets his mind, his body, lose some of the tension he’s been carrying for days.</p>
<p>After they came back from the town, Calanta disappeared back inside the farm’s main building without looking back. Barely twenty minutes after, Eul’alia came out, Boba holding her hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Twi’lek’s been there with them since then. She’s sitting on the floor, her rifle resting beside her, and while she keeps her eyes on Boba, it’s obvious her mind is very far away.</p>
<p>“Buir! Buir, look!” Jango snaps to attention and turns back to his son. He swallows a curse when he sees Boba’s managed to get closer to the tooka—the thing’s even letting him pet it. The boy changes back to Basic. “It’s so soft, buir, look.”</p>
<p>“Boba, be careful,” Jango says in Mando’a. He approaches his son slowly and carefully. One of the tooka’s ears twitches, and the animal tenses up. It’s an ugly, spindly thing, its white coat almost yellow with dirt. “Don’t—don’t touch it, Bob’ika.”</p>
<p>“Why?” Boba doesn’t look at Jango—he keeps petting the animal’s head with clumsy, careful hands.</p>
<p>“Because it’s been living out on the street and it’s very dirty,” Jango says. He stops a couple steps behind his son, his eyes still on the animal. Man and tooka look at each other for a second, and then the tooka twitches its ears again and, with one lash of its tail, turns its back on Boba and runs away.</p>
<p>“No! Bu, you scared him off!” Boba complains. He stands up and turns to look at Jango.</p>
<p>Jango sighs. He kneels on the dirt next to Boba, and reaches for the wipes he got used to carrying in his belt two weeks after the Kaminiise first handed him his son.</p>
<p>“Give me your hands, adi’ka,” Jango says. Boba frowns but does as he’s told. Jango carefully cleans them. “It’s a wild animal, Boba. It would have run away eventually.”</p>
<p>“But you scared him,” Boba says. “If you hadn’t scared him he would have run away later.”</p>
<p>Jango snorts. He tucks the dirty wipe back into his pocket and then carefully brushes Boba’s hair out of his face.</p>
<p>Boba’s logic is foolproof.</p>
<p>“I know. I’m sorry,” Jango says.</p>
<p>Boba looks at him for a beat, and then sighs, loud and dramatic.</p>
<p>“Okay. I forgive you.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Fett.”</p>
<p>Boba jumps. Jango keeps a hand on his shoulder while he stands up and then turns to look at Calanta, his face blank.The woman’s staring at Jango from under the brim of her hat. She’s smiling, the expression empty of both feeling and meaning.</p>
<p>Boba grabs Jango’s hand and scowls up at her from behind his leg.</p>
<p>Oh, if looks could kill.</p>
<p>“You have tonight and the day after tomorrow,” Calanta says. Jango keeps his face blank—he’s gotten too used to hiding behind his buy’ce.</p>
<p>“What do you want me to do?” he asks in Basic.</p>
<p>“Find the kid.” Calanta raises an eyebrow, nods in Boba’s direction. “Let’s just say that if you do, Kawa is open to renegotiating the terms of your deal with her.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the plot thickens!!!!!</p>
<p>see you on thursday :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Mines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i was going to stick to my schedule and i said the next chapter would be out on thursday, but then i saw that today is the one year anniversary of my first star wars fic (derogatory). and i had already finished fixing up the chapter and it's my fic and i can do whatever i want with it, so. here it is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Boba plays outside until the sun begins to set. He soon finds another tooka to bother, and when he gets tired of chasing after it he sits in Jango’s lap under the warm afternoon sun and chatters at Eul’alia, who at first doesn’t seem to know what to do. She keeps throwing glances at Jango, her lekku twitching and tense and an uncomfortable smile on her face.</p><p>However, as Jango knew would happen, Boba ends up thawing her more than reasonable reserve: the first time Boba makes her laugh, she freezes and then smiles, her eyes open wide, full of delighted surprise.</p><p>Boba can be very charming when he puts his mind to it, and apparently his five year old mind has decided Eul’alia is going to be his new friend, whether she wants to or not.</p><p>Jango, who never in his life has known how to make himself especially likeable—he knows some people find him charismatic, easy to follow, but he never understood why; and now it’s too late to ask—watches Boba effortlessly charm the Twi’lek and tries to keep himself from smiling.</p><p>When the sun hits the horizon, Jango stops Eul’lalia with a careful hand on her arm. The woman pauses, shoulders tense, and turns to look at him.</p><p>“I need to leave,” Jango begins, feeling awkward. Eul’alia stares at him, brow furrowed, clearly confused. “Tonight. This won’t take long, but.”</p><p>Eul’alia blinks at Jango. She takes a step back.</p><p>“I’m just a guard,” Eul’alia says. She glances back at the building, at its windows, like she can feel something or someone watching her from one of them.</p><p>Jango scowls.</p><p>“So guard him,” Jango says, his voice low, almost a growl. He puts on his buy’ce, blinks on the HUD. The world sharpens around him. It worsens his headache—he should have tried to sleep. It’ll be a long night.</p><p>Eul’alia swallows, but she stands her ground.</p><p>“What do you mean, you need to leave? Leave where? You can’t leave B—you <em>wouldn’t</em>,” she says. She sounds genuinely horrified.</p><p>Jango wonders who left her, and then erases the thought from his mind.</p><p>“A job. For Kawa,” he replies. He doesn’t elaborate. “If it goes well, we will leave. It might... take longer than I’d like it to. I may be gone until tomorrow afternoon, maybe later.”</p><p>“Bu?” Boba approaches him and hangs from his right leg, a child-sized limpet—Jango can feel the collar through the fabric of his kute, the durasteel harsh and unyielding. “Where’re you going?”</p><p>By now, Boba knows what it means when Jango puts his buy’ce back on. Jango sighs and carefully strokes his son’s too-long hair with a gloved hand.</p><p>“Work, ad’ika. I’ll be back tomorrow.”</p><p>“But <em>where</em> are you going?”</p><p>Boba is pouting at him, a scowl on his face. Jango sighs. He takes off his buy’ce once again, kneels on the floor in front of him.</p><p>Boba’s just tired. He hasn’t been able to move this much for weeks, and he’s still unwell. His dark eyes are too bright, and he’s pale again. Jango softly knocks his forehead against his son’s, and then leaves it there for a beat, just long enough to feel the scowl disappear.</p><p>“I’ll be close by, just over the town. Eul’alia can show you,” Jango says. He stands up again. “And I’ll be back soon.”</p><p>Boba stares at him in silence for an instant.</p><p>“Do you promise?”</p><p>Jango nods.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>*</p><p>Jango drives to one of the nearby cliffs that surround the town from the southeast, and then he looks over the settlement and the fields below, to the spaceport to one side and the low cliffs and the small wooded area where they found the shuttle to the other, to the sierra and the mines beyond.</p><p>He takes off his helmet and looks at the area with his own eyes, just watching the landscape, trying to understand the way it works. He looks at the roads, at the ships landing and taking off from the spaceport, at the low buildings of the settlement and the silhouette of the faraway mountains of the sierra, dark blue in the twilight. High up on the sky the stars are beginning to blink into existence, the pale shadow of the asteroid field fading as they wake.</p><p>For the first time since he landed there almost three weeks ago, Tchuta-1’s harsh beauty hits Jango. It’s an unkind world, pale and dry and too hot; it smells of unrefined fuel and garbage and hot dust, and at night it’s so quiet you can hear yourself think.</p><p>But it’s also beautiful.</p><p>Jango shakes himself. This is too important. He knows he shouldn’t believe Calanta, but something in him has latched on the promise of freedom, of leaving this place, and he cannot afford to let that chance go.</p><p>The boy arrived in town last night. He maybe talked to Gonji: the man looked guilty enough, and even if the boy didn’t talk to him, the Ithorian must have seen him arrive. Gonji spends his days there, sitting on the porch of his business or behind the counter, watching the holonet or glaring at the street.</p><p>The kid probably won’t be staying in the town itself, though—too close to Kawa’s farm and to the brothel. And the area around the settlement is full of old, abandoned houses: farms and one-store family homes. Most of them are little more than a couple of walls and some rusted appliances, but some are still more or less intact.</p><p>Jango puts on his buy’ce once again, and zooms in on the area. He soon finds a couple of likely candidates. Not too big, more or less whole, close enough to the town that someone can visit them easily, but not so close they'll be closely watched.</p><p>He marks their position in his HUD, and then mounts his borrowed speeder one again and roars down the ridge and across the dead fields.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango parks the bike behind the ruins of what once must have been a barn to store feed. Night has fallen, and with it the temperature. Jango thinks of Boba, alone in his little room, with his borrowed blanket and the new-old heating unit, and then forces himself to focus.</p><p>If everything goes well, by tomorrow night they’ll be back on the Slave I, free to leave, to return to Kamino.</p><p>Jango blinks on his HUD’s nightvision, and then scans the area. He sees some night creatures—some in the air, flitting in and out of the ruins, others scurrying through the remains of the crops—but that’s it.</p><p>After a second of doubt, he looks up to the barn. The building is half-destroyed: one of its walls has caved in, and it took half of the roof with it when it fell, but when Jango kicks at one of the remaining pillars, it doesn’t budge.</p><p>Climbing to the remains of the top floor isn’t easy, especially in his armour, but after a while Jango manages to get there. He carefully steps around the holes in the plasteel slabs, listening carefully and watching for new cracks—not for the first time, Jango wishes for his jetpack.</p><p>He could fix it himself, but the necessary tools are back in his ship to fix it himself, but he’d have to ask for permission—and the humiliation wouldn’t be worth the more than probable negative. He will do with what he has on him—it’ll just take longer.</p><p>When they left, the owners of the barn left some stuff laying around. Jango steps over old ropes, empty sacks of feed, half-rotten wooden boxes and what appears to be the sleeping place of at least three or four tookas. He can hear the sound of wings over his head, the animals that have made the remains of the roof their home agitated by his presence, and he stops for a beat, listening carefully for the telltale sign of an angry parent descending from the heights.</p><p>His beskar will keep him safe, but Jango knows from experience that cleaning dung from the kute is a pain in the ass.</p><p>Luckily, the inhabitants of the old barn leave him be, and after a while, Jango lowers himself to the dusty floor. There’s a half-broken window, the glass long gone from its panes, and he looks through it over the houses.</p><p>He knows what he’s searching for: movement, lights, the buzzing of a generator, people coming and going.</p><p>Jango’s taking a risk by staying there, by waiting there—he might be wrong. Maybe the boy is closer to the spaceport, or to the mines, or in the town itself. Jango’s betting his chance to get off of the moon on a hunch—and he has never been a betting man.</p><p>But Jango can’t physically cover the whole area on his own in so short a time—and he’s been doing this kind of thing for long enough, first with Jaster and the Haat’ade, and afterwards on his own, that he’s managed to develop the right kind of instincts.</p><p>Logic and experience tell Jango that he’s right—and something that’s beyond those things, something that might be what his buir used to call the Ka’ra, back when he was a child on Concord Dawn, just reinforces this idea.</p><p>Jango waits. He sits down close to the window and looks over to the dead fields and the plains beyond and the ruins of all those houses and the harsh, sharp points of the sierra far away, and lets his brain quiet down.</p><p>A big part of hunting is just waiting—for your prey, for the right moment, for a chance—, and there’s a reason Jango is the best.</p><p>*</p><p>The Ithorian lives in the house closest to the town, a small, beat-up place. Jango’s been there for almost two standard hours when he sees the man’s silhouette cross over from the settlement, his big shoulders hunched against the cutting night wind. The asteroid ring high up in the sky reflects enough light Jango switches off the night vision of his buy’ce and zeroes in on Gonji’s shadow, light grey and diffuse against the pale dirt.</p><p>Jango’s reasonably sure the man’s alone, that there’s no one living in his house. Jango watches for a while anyway, zooms in with his HUD on the window he can see. It reveals a small room full of old, beat-up furniture. Jango watches the Ithorian pass in front of the glass a couple of times, moving around his home. Then the man switches off the lights.</p><p>Jango sighs. He turns back to the rest of the houses. An hour passes, and then another, and something that’s too similar to pure, unadulterated fear begins to sour his mouth.</p><p>He doesn’t think he was wrong, setting camp up there—but what if he was? Jango isn’t on top of his game. He’s tired, and he’s worried—he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days and days, and he’s not as young as he used to be, he can’t afford to miss as much sleep as he’s been missing lately.</p><p>Jango forcibly calms himself down again, but the anxiety doesn’t fade away completely—it stays with him, heavy and dense and low in his stomach, pressing down on his chest.</p><p>Half an hour later Jango sees something, a shadow, step away from the greater shade of the town. A man, it looks like—he moves swiftly, faster than Jango’s ever seen most humanoids move, and it’s weirdly difficult to keep his eyes on him. He zooms in on him with his HUD, and he sees a head of light hair, obvious even in the dark, a familiar profile.</p><p>What the kriff is Spadaro’s beroya doing there?</p><p>Jango scowls. He watches the other man disappear behind one of the houses and reappear seconds later, his movements sure and an unfamiliar expression on his face. It’s... blank, absolutely calm, devoid of feelings.</p><p>Ben crosses through the fields in front of Jango’s barn, and he lies down on the floor, trying to make himself less visible, even if he’s sure it’d be hard to find him even if anyone knew he’s there. But there’s something about the way Ben moves, something Jango hasn’t ever seen before in the other human, that’s put him on high alert.</p><p>When Ben leaves the barn behind, Jango can’t help but let out a breath.</p><p>Jango can’t say he expected this, expected him, but it’s exactly the kind of thing he was waiting for—and he should have seen it coming.</p><p>Jango drops from the upper floor, his knees twinging from the impact, steps out of the barn, his steps careful and his buy’ce’s scanners working overtime, and then follows the other man’s footprints, clear in the pale dirt of the fields thanks to the asteroid field’s soft, white light.</p><p>*</p><p>The tracks disappear in front of what once must have been a farming complex similar to the one where Kawa’s people live. Jango can see one two-storey building, more or less whole, and the ruins of what once must have been a barn or a warehouse behind it. The area is surrounded by the remains of a low fence, built with a mix of duracrete and rusty metal.</p><p>Jango can’t find a way in. The fence is broken down in places, but most of those holes are made dangerous by the sharp points of its metal skeleton—Jango circles the complex once, twice, his anxiety gone and replaced by the ice cold calm he’s so familiar with.</p><p>Finally, Jango finds a way in: something tried to burrow under the fence sometime in the recent past, and after a while, Jango manages to make the hole big enough so that he can crawl under the duracrete, his buy’ce rasping against the rocks and feeling just slightly humiliated.</p><p>Jango finds Ben’s tracks soon enough. He follows them to the main building—when he gets closer, he hears something, two voices, one low and the other one higher, talking to each other in what is unequivocally Basic. Jango stops, his heart beating hard in his chest, and looks around. He’s sure he’s alone—the place looks like it’s been abandoned for years if not decades, dusty and ruined and broken down under the weight of time and the forces of nature. It smells of dust and hot metal, and Jango can taste the familiar aftertaste of unrefined rhydonium that seems to be everywhere on the moon despite his buy’ce’s filters.</p><p>The only footprints he can see are the other man’s, and they disappear on the other side of what seems to be a walled off door, covered in a makeshift tarp and some rough wooden blocks, dry and white in the low pale light of the asteroid field.</p><p>Jango frowns, deep in thought. He needs some way to make sure the kid’s there, that this isn’t just some squatter Ben’s friends with. He switches on the heat vision of his buy’ce, and soon enough he’s found their silhouettes, obvious in Tchutta-1’s cold nights.</p><p>Carefully, trying to move noiselessly over the dust and the dirt, Jango circles the complex, half of his attention on the rumour of their voices, the other half thinking about Ben.</p><p>It should have been obvious. Ben popped up on the moon around the same time Kawa had the shuttle shot down, and he’s too well trained and too clever to just be a third-rate bounty hunter. He must be the pilot she wanted killed, and he must be the boy’s guardian as well.</p><p>Ben may not know why they were shot down, or who was the one who did it—that’s why he approached first Gonji and then Spadaro. It must be all for that kid, whoever he is and whatever it’s his worth.</p><p>There—Jango’s found it. He sees a sliver of pale golden light on the dusty ground, and follows it to the building. It’s coming through a covered window, through the cracks between the wood boards it’s covered with.</p><p>Jango carefully approaches the window, his HUD set to record, and peers in. He sees a room, small and cluttered and dirty. There’s a heating unit similar to the one that’s in Boba's room in its centre, and a crate next to it. The place is badly illuminated, a single yellow light flickering next to the unit on the floor. Next to it he can see the remains of a coach or a mattress, thin and stained, with a newer looking red blanket on top.</p><p>The boy’s there, sitting next to the blanket on the mattress. He’s a human teenager, and he looks exhausted, pale and with circles under his eyes that almost look like bruises.</p><p>Ben’s also there, a bit to the left, almost hid by the darkness. He’s telling something to the boy, his Mid-Rim accent completely gone. Jango ignores what he’s saying, and focuses on his tone of voice—Ben sounds... tired, frustrated, impatient. They must be arguing.</p><p>Suddenly Ben stops talking, and the boy looks at him, as if the man had called his name. They exchange a look, and then the man scowls.</p><p>Jango looks around himself, searching for the thing that has caught their attention—he can’t see anything.</p><p>The only thing out of ordinary is him.</p><p>He takes a step back. He has what he wants. It’s time to leave.</p><p>*</p><p>“Master?”</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>Obi-Wan raises a hand, and for once Anakin listens to him and keeps quiet. The two of them keep silent for a few long seconds—around them, the old building creaks and sways, and the wind blows, and something small with too many legs scurries under their feet.</p><p>“I felt it too—I think it’s gone,” Anakin says. He stands up, approaches one of the boarded up windows, his ‘saber in his hand, keeping close to the wall.</p><p><em>Karking</em> <em>hell</em>.</p><p>“I think I know who it was,” Obi-Wan says. He feels cold.</p><p>It’s a lie—he doesn’t <em>think</em> he knows: he <em>knows</em>. By now he’d be able to recognise Jango Fett’s muted Force signature in a room full of strangers. The only reason Obi-Wan didn’t feel him coming before it’s because he was too busy arguing with a teenager, and because the man was wearing beskar. Obi-Wan rubs his face, angry with himself, and curses under his breath.</p><p>“Obi-Wan?”</p><p>Obi-Wan opens his eyes. Anakin’s looking at him from the other side of the room—their bond thrums with fear, with anxiety, with something that might be shame: Anakin’s blaming himself.</p><p>“I can’t let him reach the town,” Obi-Wan says. He turns his back on his apprentice, his mind already on the next few minutes, on the fight he knows it’s coming.</p><p>“Master?”</p><p>“I need to leave,” Obi-Wan says, turning back to Anakin. “Where’s—“</p><p>Anakin is already offering his lightsaber to him, holding it in an outstretched hand that trembles slightly. Obi-Wan pauses, closes his eyes, forces himself to calm down, to breath in and out.</p><p>He cannot afford to be this... this out of sorts. His padawan depends on him.</p><p>“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. He closes the distance between them to grab his ‘saber, slips it into one of his jacket’s inner pockets. Afterwards Obi-Wan grabs the teenager by his too-thin shoulders, stoops slightly so that he can look the boy in the eye. “You need to leave. I’ll try to—to stop him from contacting anyone else. But you need to move. Don’t tell Gonji or anyone else. Do you remember the place I told you about? The offices, near the mine?”</p><p>“Yes, I remember.”</p><p>“Go there. I’ll—take care of this, somehow, and come back for you.”</p><p>Anakin nods. He swallows, and then clenches his jaw, scowls.</p><p>“Let me go with you. I’m good. You know I am. I’m—I’m a better duelist than some of the Knights at the Temple.”</p><p>He is. Obi-Wan sighs, combs a hand through his apprentice’s tangled and dirty fringe. He still remembers a time when it was lighter. Anakin used to be golden—but lately it’s as if the light from his homeworld’s suns has slowly been bled out of him.</p><p>“I know. But—against almost any other foe I’d want you at my back. But not against him. He’s—he killed six Knights with his bare hands fifteen years ago, Anakin. I won’t risk you.”</p><p>Anakin stares at him, his eyes very big, shining wetly.</p><p>“But what if you—what if you—“</p><p>Obi-Wan grabs him by the shoulders again.</p><p>“I’m very good at surviving, Anakin. I will come back for you, no matter what,” Obi-Wan begins. He stretches out with his senses—Fett’s getting away; he needs to hurry. “The Order will send someone for us soon. Trust me.”</p><p>Anakin blinks. He nods, and then he impulsively hugs Obi-Wan, his thin arms shockingly strong around his ribs. Obi-Wan exhales, surprised, and after a second he finds his wits and hugs his padawan back. He has never been very good with displays of affection such as these, but he’s gotten better thanks to Anakin.</p><p>It’s been years since his padawan did something like this, though.</p><p>Anakin must be terrified.</p><p>“Trust in the Force,” Obi-Wan says. Slowly, haltingly, he raises a hand and tangles it in the back of his padawan’s hair. “Everything will be fine. I will come back for you.”</p><p>The boy nods, his face hidden in his jacket.</p><p>“Okay,” he says, his voice wet and muffled. He sniffs and looks Obi-Wan in the face. “I trust you.”</p><p>*</p><p>The area‘s close to an older mine that must have been closed for decades, the old entrance showing its black hole of a mouth, the dark inside deeper than the night. Obi-Wan vaults over the chainlink fence with one Force-assisted jump, his ‘saber already in his right hand, for once not bothering to disguise the fact that he’s slightly more than human.</p><p>He can feel Fett getting away—he’s walking in the direction of the remains of a big, mostly whole barn that Obi-Wan marked and summarily ignored when he got there before that night. Obi-Wan clenches his jaw, and puts away his feelings of shame and guilt and frustration for later. The Force is tense and heavy, tender like a bruise, but he doesn’t need its help to know that things will get ugly.</p><p>He’s exhausted, but he makes himself run, his footsteps fast and almost silent over the packed earth, the asteroid field shining over his head and illuminating the pale dust his boots make fly. He hears the sound of a speeder turning on, and makes himself run faster, his heart in his throat and his head calm and cold.</p><p>He doesn’t think for a second that he’ll be too late—whatever’s going to happen tonight is meant to happen: Obi-Wan couldn’t avoid it even if he tried.</p><p>The road back to the town makes a curve to the right and passes right in front of the entrance to the old mine before turning back to the town. Obi-Wan changes courses, his boots quick and soundless against the dirt, and runs towards the approaching vehicle.</p><p>Fett sees him coming. He is good at shielding, at making himself invisible, and the beskar helps, but his alarm blares in the Force: he holds the bike back, curls over its handles, and tries to swerve—but it’s no use.</p><p>Obi-Wan jumps, his ‘saber warm and thrumming and happy to see him in his right hand, and cuts through the front engine.</p><p>Fett yells a curse, and loses control of the bike—the vehicle goes spinning, and he goes flying from its seat, rolls on the road a couple of times before he manages to stop himself. Obi-Wan lets him gather his wits, watches him while Fett shakes his head and slowly kneels on the ground and manages to get back to his feet. The blue of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber shines off the dusty beskar of Fett’s armour, dyes the dirt and the far off wrecked bike.</p><p>Obi-Wan waits. He feels completely calm—he’s one with the Force. He’s aware of his own exhaustion, of his feelings of anxiety and fear, of his padawan’s, as well, but it’s like they are all happening to someone else.</p><p>Fett looks at him, stock still. Slowly he clenches his hands into fists. Before his shields slam down, Obi-Wan is hit with a wave of pure hatred.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you go,” he says, even if he knows it’ll be for nothing.</p><p>“<em>Jetii</em>. You are a <em>shabla</em> <em>jetii</em>,” is Fett’s only answer. “I should have known.”</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks at him. The air is cold, and it smells of rhydonium and dust and animal dung—to his right he can see the entrance to the old mine, and the dirt under his boots is still warm, so much so that he can feel it through the thick soles.</p><p>Obi-Wan raises his ‘saber, the Soresu opening stance so familiar and comforting it’s like coming home.</p><p>“I worked very hard to hide it,” Obi-Wan quips. When he smiles, he tastes blood in his mouth—his lips are dry, cracked. He licks it off. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”</p><p>Fett just stares at him, his hands hovering over his blasters. As always, his stillness shocks Obi-Wan—it feels like going against something not quite human.</p><p>Obi-Wan probably should stop trying to antagonize him, but then again: he needs Fett angry and stupid, not angry and clever.</p><p>He twirls his ‘saber, resettles into Soresu, left arm raised, his leather jacket and the too-small shirt underneath tight around his shoulders—not for the first time he misses his old clothes, the roughspun tunic and the tabards, the way they move with him.</p><p>For a long minute they just look at each other. Obi-Wan keeps an eye on Fett’s hands, on his vambraces, on the ground between them. He knows he will need to eliminate that distance if he wants to win this fight—the blaster that hangs from his hip is barely an afterthought.</p><p>At least Fett doesn’t have his jetpack, Obi-Wan thinks, and the idea makes his smile slightly bigger, makes the other man twitch.</p><p>Obi-Wan feels Fett’s eyes on him, staring at him through the visor. He feels like just another piece of his beskar’gam in the Force—gunmetal grey and unyielding. His presence fills Obi-Wan’s mouth with the taste of blood and ozone and wet, black dirt.</p><p>Nobody knows much about what happened to him, after Galidraan. The master in charge of that ill-fated mission handed Fett to the place’s governor before he realised it had all been a trap—and by then it was too late to do anything about it. Afterwards, the governor insisted he had known nothing.</p><p>Obi-Wan can’t help but wonder, though—he’s never met anyone like the man he’s got right in front of him. Was Fett always like this, cold and unyielding and full of hate? Or was he made to be this way?</p><p>Fett moves first. He shoots, first his right blaster, then the left, quick, so quick, and so accurate his shots are hard to avoid, to repel. Obi-Wan falls deeper into Soresu, begins moving closer, step by step, his lightsaber a blue shield in front of him—he’s waiting for his chance—he needs to shorten the distance between them, needs to get closer so that he can—</p><p>there.</p><p>Obi-Wan jumps, faster than the eye can follow, feels the heat of the Mandalorian’s flamethrower singe the back of his jacket, falls right behind him on light feet and immediately drops to the floor, dodges an elbow to the face and while he stands up again changes forms, from III to IV, the Ataru from his padawan years still familiar, comforting.</p><p>Fett tries to keep him at a distance, but Obi-Wan doesn’t let him. His lightsaber hits beskar, once, twice, a vambrace and a back plate, and meanwhile Fett keeps moving and shooting and trying to trip him. He holsters one gun, raises his arm, quicker than thought, and Obi-Wan has to jump backwards once again to avoid having his face melted off.</p><p>They’ve gotten closer to the mouth of the mine. Obi-Wan can feel cold air licking at the back of his neck, humid and dense like the breath of a beast. It makes him shiver, and he shakes himself and focuses back on the fight.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s been fighting Fett for less than five minutes, but he’s already exhausted—his arms hurt, and so do his legs, and his breath rattles in his chest. He is unhurt, at least for now, but at this rate it won’t last—this might be the hardest fight he’s ever had to fight on his own.</p><p>The ground around him feels—off. It looks fine: it looks exactly the same way the rest of the moon does, white dust and white dirt and white rocks, with green-grey weeds and stunted shrubs growing here and there.</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns, reaches out with his mind—the Force’s telling him that something is wrong, that there’s something he should be paying attention to, and he sacrifices a figment of his attention, of his considerable focus to find what his feelings and his instinct are trying to show him.</p><p>Obi-Wan does—but it comes with a price.</p><p>It lasts barely a second—Obi-Wan’s thoughts stray from the fight from less than an instant, but that’s more than enough for Fett.</p><p>Fett’s blaster changes hands, and then there’s a hard wire around Obi-Wan, holding his arms close against his body. Obi-WAn snarls, somehow manages not to lose his saber, and then trips when Fett pulls on the wire before he can dig in with his feet.</p><p>All around him, Obi-Wan can feel the ground crack and tremble, full of invisible pitfalls and hidden sinkholes—they dug under the earth until the couldn’t anymore, and then they left for the sierra down south, the only memory of their greed barely hidden underneath the moon’s surface.</p><p>The Force sings with Fett’s grim satisfaction—he knows he’s won, but he’s not happy about it. There is no joy in him, just the satisfaction of a work finished, of a job well done.</p><p>But it’s not over—not yet. Obi-Wan digs in, doesn’t let the other man move him when he pulls again on the cable, feels it cut his skin where it’s not covered by his jacket and ignores the sting, the warm blood that stains the clothes underneath. He pulls in turn, but it’s useless—Fett is stronger than him, and Obi-wan’s too out of sorts to channel the Force effectively, his focus too scattered between the threat he sees in front of him and the ones he knows are there but can’t, won’t see coming.</p><p>They are on the brink of something, and Obi-Wan feels like a child thrown into the deep end of a pool, trying to learn to swim while cold water fills his mouth.</p><p>Fett doesn’t gloat. He raises his blaster, his free arm tense and his gloved hand holding onto the wire that’s coming from his vambrace, its grip unyielding—</p><p>and then something cracks under Obi-Wan’s feet. The familiar feeling of incoming danger fills the Force, and Obi-Wan tries to jump over it, to find safe ground, but Fett pulls on the wire, instinct more than anything, alarm and confusion escaping his shields and drowning the white-hot hate, and Obi-Wan fails. He falls short and falls down, into darkness that smells wet and cloying, a choked-off scream snarled in his throat.</p><p>The last thing Obi-Wan sees before hitting the ground and losing his hold on his thoughts, on his lightsaber, is Fett falling in after him—and the last thing he feels is Anakin’s terror, filling the bond like a wave hitting shore.</p><p>*</p><p>The jetii disappears through the earth, and Jango blinks, full of shock, before finding himself dragged behind him. He has the presence of mind to let go of the cable connecting them together, but that’s everything he has the time to do before his back hits the ground.</p><p>Jango loses blaster—if not for his beskar’gam, he probably would have broken something, his back, his karking neck. The pain is sharp, all-encompassing, and for an instant he blacks out, his head ringing inside his buy’ce, his breath a fluttering, rattling thing in his chest.</p><p>The world fades back in slowly. Jango blinks, disoriented, watches while the HUD of his buy’ce reboots itself. There is the smallest crack in the visor, and it warps the world around him. Jango sees something, far away in the darkness, right in front of him—there is a hole in the world.</p><p>Jango blinks again—no, that’s the sky. He stares at it for a second, the slow movement of stars and asteroids suddenly the most fascinating thing he has ever seen in his life. He breathes in deeply, and promptly chokes on something, begins to cough, dry and aching and painful.</p><p>Everything hurts. He strangles the fear, and moves his limbs one by one, checking the state of his joints. Everything works as it should, even if it hurts like hell. Jango sighs, shivery with shock and pain and relief, and manages to sit up.</p><p>He looks around himself, sees a whole lot of nothing, switches on the nightvision mode on his buy’ce, and then looks again. He’s underground. His missing blaster’s a few meters down from Jango, the metal glinting dully in the little light that filters from the ragged hole up on the gallery’s strangely high ceiling.</p><p>Jango isn’t alone.</p><p>Jango first sees the jetii’s hand, pale and outstretched. He is lying face down close to Jango’s blaster; after a while, he sees the man’s jetii’kad close to him on the ground, a few inches from his fingers.</p><p>Jango stands up—for a second he thinks he’s going to black out again, the mix of pain and exhaustion too much for him, but he manages to stay on his feet. Jango blinks cold sweat from his eyes, and slowly, carefully, with bated breath and something that’s heavier and more bitter and sharper than hatred in his chest, he approaches the demagolka.</p><p>Jango takes the man’s weapon. It’s weirdly heavy, the metal warm. It’s off but it feels alive, like whatever it contains, its heart of kyber, is thrumming under its durasteel skeleton. Jango puts it in one of his belt pouches—kyber crystals are well-guarded, well-hidden, and extremely valuable. He’s a rich man already, he doesn’t need the money—but there is something darkly satisfying about <em>selling </em>such a thing.</p><p>Fierfek. And to think that Jango was beginning to find the jetii likable—to think that barely six hours ago Jango had found himself standing with him, shoulder to shoulder, and thinking that he’d rather not have to kill the jetii at all.</p><p>Jango watches the jetii. He is still unconscious. His HUD paints his light hair and what Jango can see of his pale face in shades of green and grey and black: there’s blood on his cheek, on his fringe, under his nose. He’s scowling, as well, pain and whatever it’s going on on his head while he dreams showing on his face.</p><p>The jetii was good—fast, and clever, and strong. Whoever trained him did a very good job. He wouldn’t have won their fight, but if he hadn’t gotten distracted he might have escaped Jango once again. Fighting him felt like trying to hold water in your clenched fist.</p><p>Jango grabs his blaster from the ground, cleans off the dust of the metal and makes sure the fall didn’t harm it. He does it quickly—the jetii appears to be completely out of it, but Jango’s learned the hard way you can never be too careful with Force users.</p><p>Jango points his blaster at the man’s head, makes sure the safety’s off. He lets himself look at the jetii, at his light hair and his young face—he must be barely thirty.</p><p>Jango snarls. He soon will have his revenge on his Order—it’s a pity the jetii won’t have the chance to witness it, to perish under the hand of his eyayade, in the war Jango knows it’s coming, that he can already feel brewing, but Jango has to admit this is much more satisfying. It may be faster, but it also feels—almost pure. Uncomplicated.</p><p>Jango pulls down on the trigger, but suddenly he’s no longer on his feet but flying backwards through the air, crashing through one of the mine’s walls. He blanks out again, manages to blink himself awake, and then chokes, pain and fury and shock all mingled in his chest.</p><p>“Fierfek,” Jango snarls, and then moves to the right, dodges the high kick the jetii has thrown in his head’s direction. Another one follows, and then a vibroknife slash, and Jango can’t let him get his fancy light sword back, and he’s lost his blaster once again, can’t seem to find it but—</p><p>Jango raises his arm, blocks a slash with his right vambrace, headbutts the man in the nose and hears a satisfying crunch, and then raises his arm and blinks off the night vision, the movement barely more than instinct by that point, shoots his flamethrower and gets himself far away enough he can unholster his other weapon, blinks on the night vision once again.</p><p>Jango shoots at the jetii, but it’s like he’s made of water, of some kind of fluid—none of Jango’s shots hit him, he looks hurt and exhausted and his face is bloody and pale, but he won’t stop moving, ruthless and full of grace. He approaches Jango once again, raises his right hand and throws Jango against a wall and then keeps him there, a snarl on the jetii’s face and his teeth full of blood.</p><p>“Where the fuck is my ‘saber, Fett,” the jetii snarls with clenched teeth, High Coruscanti accent obvious, and Jango suddenly hates him so much he can’t even see.</p><p>Jango grows under his breath, tries to move, manages to raise the hand that holds his gun barely over his hip before something pushes it back again.</p><p>“You won’t need it where you are going, jetii,” Jango snarls back in Mando’a, and the other man scowls.</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere, shabuir,” the jetii replies, his Mando’a accented but fluent. He changes back to Basic. “Where is my fucking lightsaber, Fett.”</p><p>Hearing <em>his </em>language—the language the jetiise and their allies have tried so hard to eradicate—slip from the man’s lips gives Jango the push he needs.</p><p>Jango frees himself from the jetii’s hold, falls to his knees already shooting, but the man swears viciously in Basic and just dodges the bolts again, moving around the shots like he knows where they’re going to hit even before Jango does.</p><p>“Oh, kark this,” Jango mutters.</p><p>Jango rolls the thermal detonator between the jetii’s feet, throws himself around the nearby corner and drops down to the floor, his head under his arms.</p><p>Jango’s fast—but the jetii’s faster, and Jango hears him curse, run up the wall like gravity is something that happens to other people, drop next to Jango with a grunt, and—</p><p>The explosive detonates. Jango’s armour does its job. Something falls off from the gallery’s ceiling, and the floor creaks, trembles.</p><p>“Fuck,” Jango says, the Basic heavy and cold in his mouth. The jetii pushes to his knees on the floor next to him, his eyes open wide.</p><p>“You <em>motherfucker</em>,” the jetii begins to say, his voice full of horrified shock, and then something cracks and they fall down into darkness for the second time.</p><p>*</p><p>Rocks and clumps of dirt hit Obi-Wan, and he gasps, closes his eyes and tries to protect his head with his arms, his mouth full of dust and wet dirt that tastes like chemicals. His shoulder hits something cold and hard—Fett, falling down along with him, fear and hatred and, for some reason, <em>shock</em>, resonating in the Force.</p><p>Obi-Wan tries to slow down his own fall and grabs for the other man, the instinct to protect, to help, too ingrained by this point, even if the fucker deserves to die buried under a couple tons of dirt. Obi-WAn reaches out with his senses, but he’s too tired, too hurt—he’s sure one of his ribs is at least cracked, and he can feel it grind every time he moves—and there is too much going on anyway.</p><p>Half a second before they hit the bottom, however, Obi-Wan feels his mouth fill with the familiar taste of brackish, cold water—he takes a deep breath.</p><p>Obi-Wan loses his hold on Fett, but soon that’s the least of his problems—he can’t see, and the lake or whatever it is they have fallen into is deeper than he thought, its waters still and darker than the void of space. Obi-Wan focuses his energy on kicking upwards, towards what he wants to believe is the surface.</p><p>When Obi-Wan breaks through he blinks the water from his eyes, gulping down wet, stinking air like it’s as pure as the one found in the heights of Alderaan’s mountains.</p><p>He looks around himself, his eyes open wide, but he can’t see anything—he can’t hear anything either. He waits for his eyes to get used to the darkness, for Fett to break the surface of the lake as well, but none of those things happen.</p><p>Obi-Wan remembers then his lightsaber, and curses under his breath. He takes a deep breath and goes back down.</p><p>Fett is still alive, if just barely—Obi-Wan can sense him struggling. His armour must be too heavy for him to be able to swim in it—something ugly and full of vindication wakes up in his chest, tries to get its claws on his heart.</p><p>What did the—the <em>shabuir</em> think was going to happen, detonating a bomb inside a half-broken down mine?</p><p>Obi-Wan’s running out of air. He stops trying to swim and focuses, and then raises his hand in the darkness and calls the other man to him. It takes one, two tries, and each time it’s harder than the last.</p><p>Fett is still alive but unconscious. Obi-Wan gets his arm around the bounty hunter’s chest and uses the tattered remains of his connection to the Force to make his legs kick faster and stronger.</p><p>Later, Obi-Wan won’t quite remember how he dragged Fett to the nearby shore, how he was able to get his body out of the water.</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks, kneeling next to Fett’s body on the wet, hard rock, and then struggles with cold, shivering fingers to take off the man’s helmet and to disengage the beskar plates from his kute, finding the still familiar connections just with his sense of touch.</p><p>It has been many years since Satine and that mission on Mandalore, but he still remembers.</p><p>Somehow, Obi-Wan manages to bring Fett back to life. And afterwards, while the other man does his best to hack up half the lake and at least one of his lungs, Obi-Wan follows the singing of his kyber crystal and slips his ‘saber from one of the man’s pouches.</p><p>Fett tries to scramble away, but he’s too weak, too busy trying to bring air back into his lungs, and Obi-Wan ignores him. They move around each other in almost complete darkness, Obi-Wan’s connection to the Force something tired and stretched thin that’s barely enough to help him navigate his way around the other man. It will never leave him—it’s a part of him, like his eyes or his hair or his nose or his heart are a part of him—but he’s so tired and everything hurts so much. In his head, through the bond, Obi-Wan can feel Anakin’s fear, his alarm, his anxiety and frustration.</p><p>Obi-Wan switches on his lightsaber. Its cold blue light, so sudden and bright in the darkness, blinds him momentarily, and Obi-WAn has to blink tears from his eyes. At his back, Fett gasps, curses under his breath and scrambles further away—he almost falls back into the water and Obi-Wan can’t help but roll his eyes.</p><p>Obi-Wan raises his weapon. The light reflects on the surface of the water they fell into, black and smooth like a mirror. They are in what once must have been a lower level of the mines. It looks much older than its entrance, than the gallery they were in previously. The water was deep, but now that they’re out of it Obi-Wan can see it’s not as big as it felt—he tries to call it a lake in his head and grimaces. He’s begun to shiver, cold and shock and pure exhaustion. He thinks longingly of a long, hot shower, wishes for a cup of tea, for his bed back in the Temple, for clean robes and dry feet.</p><p>Obi-Wan can barely see the ceiling of the cave, even with his lightsaber’s help, and the air smells—cleaner, not as close, even if it still stinks of rhydonium and dust and wet dirt and old machinery.</p><p>On the other side of the lake he can see the beginning of a long hallway, hidden by shadow. Obi-Wan turns around—ignoring Fett, who has managed to armour back up again and now is trying to stand up, hate and rage and pure exhaustion slipping through his shields and his beskar, the feelings bitter in Obi-Wan’s mouth—and looks at whatever is at their back.</p><p>The place they are in must have been once a kind of—gallery, or refining plant. He can see some old barrels, the durasteel covered by dirt and the dust of years, maybe centuries. Sometime in the past water must have broken through its walls and flooded the place, and with time it’s made it its home and managed to turn what once must have been a short simple walk into a swim through cold, dark waters.</p><p>The tunnel on their side of the divide is not an option, of course. Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber, trying to see a way through—but it’s no use. It’s full of rocks and dirt and debris.</p><p>“What the kark are you doing,” he hears Fett ask from his back.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He swallows down the first answer that comes to mind, and also the second, and the third.</p><p>“Looking for a way through, of course,” Obi-Wan replies, perfectly civil. Fett mutters something under his breath, and Obi-Wan looks at him over his shoulder. The man has finally managed to stand up, and he’s shivering. His flight suit must be both freezing and incredibly heavy. Obi-Wan turns back to the blocked gallery.</p><p>“You should have let me die,” Fett says.</p><p>“Oh, I can still push you in, don’t worry.”</p><p>The bounty hunter doesn’t answer. He stays where he is at Obi-Wan’s back, quiet and still like one of the empty fuel barrels that line the hallways. Fett’s lost one of his blasters, and his right hand hovers over the only one he has left, safely ensconced in his hip holster. He’s hard to read, but Obi-Wan doesn’t need to. He turns back to the Mandalorian, his lightsaber still in his hand, and blinks water from his eyes, trying to ignore the cold, the exhaustion, to hold onto his connection to the Force for a bit longer.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s overextending himself—sooner or later he’ll crash, and it won’t be pretty, and he’d rather be as far away as he can from Fett when that happens.</p><p>“Why did you save my life?” Fett asks. “What do you want?”</p><p>Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. He lowers his weapon, and the man twitches, his right hand clenching over his blaster.</p><p>“I wanted my lightsaber,” Obi-Wan answers honestly. “And that’s about it. I’m not in the habit of letting other people drown if I can do something about it.”</p><p>Fett scoffs, his voice full of scorn: he clearly doesn’t believe him.</p><p>“You are a jetii,” Fett says, and then falls quiet, as if that was reason enough to do just that.</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt for a second that the other man would have let him die. He smiles, small and bitter.</p><p>“Spite, then. I know I’m a better man than you’ll ever be, and I want you to know it,” Obi-Wan says. Obi-Wan looks at him, waits him out, but the man doesn’t speak again.</p><p>“I know you don’t like me,” Obi-Wan begins. “And believe me, right now the feeling is mutual. But I suggest that we put our fight on hold until we find a way to get out of here.”</p><p>Fett doesn’t move. He just stands there, the front side of his helmet facing Obi-Wan, and he had forgotten how incredibly frustrating Mandos could be, how hard to read, how... infuriating.</p><p>“Or I could just swim to the other side of this,” Obi-Wan continues, nodding to the water. He kicks a loose rock, hears it jump and skip and finally sink with a loud splash. “And leave you here. I’d like to see you drag all that beskar to the other side.”</p><p>Another beat. Fett keeps quiet, and Obi-Wan feels the fingers of his free hand twitch.</p><p>It’s like the Mandalorian knows exactly how to push his buttons—Obi-Wan doesn’t mind silence, but he hates feeling ignored.</p><p>The silence between them drags. Obi-Wan shivers, tries to ignore the cold, doesn’t give in to the temptation to draw on the Force to keep himself warm.</p><p>“Can you?”</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks. He doesn’t jump, he’s too well trained for that, but he must be more tired than he thought—Fett’s voice catches him by surprise.</p><p>“Can I <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Get me across this,” Fett says, tilting his helmet toward the lake. “You don’t look like you could get <em>yourself</em> across.”</p><p>Obi-Wan smiles blandly.</p><p>“The Force will provide,” he says. “Is that a yes, then, Fett?”</p><p>Fett just looks at him for a beat. Finally, he nods once, rigid and tense.</p><p>It <em>is</em> a yes. Obi-Wan keeps his shock from his face. He had been sure the man would tell him to, well, to fuck off.</p><p>“Very well,” Obi-Wan says instead. He turns to look at the lake, raises his ‘saber once again, ignores the way Fett twitches. Obi-Wan blinks and draws on the Force, just a bit—he needs to focus. “I can jump to the other side without much issue. I could... jump with you.”</p><p>If he wasn’t as tired, or if he liked Fett more, Obi-Wan would have offered to just levitate him from one shore to the other—but he’s exhausted, and Fett is an enemy, and one Obi-Wan doesn’t particularly like, at that.</p><p>“No,” Fett says. It sounds very... definitive.</p><p>Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, did you have a better idea?” he asks, all bland politeness.</p><p>Fett doesn’t answer. He just looks at Obi-Wan, and it’d be more intimidating if he wasn’t shivering and dripping wet.</p><p>Finally, Fett nods. Obi-Wan bites his lip, takes a step towards him and stops.</p><p>“I’m going to have to... grab you,” he finishes clumsily.</p><p>“Grab me how.”</p><p>“What do you think?” Obi-Wan snaps back at Fett. Suddenly, he’s not so sure about this plan. His fingers twitch over his ‘saber again. “Please do not stab me. I need to get my left arm around your waist.”</p><p>They both stand side by side on the edge of the shore, the water licking at their boots. Slowly, feeling like he’s Fett’s partner in a dance whose steps no one ever bothered to teach him, Obi-Wan stoops slightly and curls his left arm around Fett.</p><p>The man’s so tense he is practically vibrating.</p><p>“This would be so much easier if you had your jetpack,” Obi-Wan observes. Fett tenses even more.</p><p>“Do not talk to me about my jetpack.”</p><p>“If only you hadn’t tried to kill me with it.”</p><p>Obi-Wan adjusts his hold around the other man. It’s like trying to hug a corpse. Finally, he sighs, and closes his eyes.</p><p>“What are you doing now?”</p><p>“Please be quiet,” Obi-Wan replies, cutting. “I need to focus.”</p><p>It takes Obi-Wan longer and it’s harder than it should—Obi-Wan’s done much harder things in his career as a Jedi Knight than jumping such a short distance—but the Force <em>is </em>there, waiting for him. Obi-Wan draws from its wellspring, feeling warmth and safety and strength flowing through his veins.</p><p>“Don’t tell me to shut u—<em>fierfek</em>.”</p><p>It’s not his most elegant landing, but Obi-Wan manages to get them across the water without killing either of them, and at this point he’ll take his victories where he can.</p><p>Immediately, Fett steps away and puts some distance between them. Obi-Wan rotates his shoulder—the man’s heavy. He’s shorter than Obi-Wan by a fair amount, but he’s built like a brick wall, and the armour doesn’t help.</p><p>Obi-Wan lets go of the Force and sighs, exhausted once again. He blinks, his eyes scratchy, and tries not to shiver too hard, suddenly aware of the fact that his clothes are soaking wet. The old mine is cold, much colder than the surface, and the air’s so wet, so humid, it feels almost like being back in the water. Obi-Wan’s head is pounding, exhaustion and lack of sleep and anxiety and adrenaline leaving him queasy and dizzy, and by now Obi-Wan knows himself well enough to know that he needs to sit somewhere quiet and rest if he doesn’t want to pay a much steeper price afterwards.</p><p>He glances at Fett, and tries not to sigh.</p><p>The Mandalorian’s facing him, the light of Obi-Wan’s ‘saber shining off his buy’ce’s visor. As always, Fett’s so still he feels almost inhuman—Fett’s stillness is like that of a big predator: he’s waiting for the right moment to attack.</p><p>Obi-Wan tries not to scowl at him openly. His fingers twitch over his weapon, and he raises it higher, its blue light illuminating further down the gallery that opens a few feet from where they are.</p><p>“I would suggest,” Obi-Wan begins, and even while he speaks he knows it will be useless, “that we put away our differences and work together to find a way out of here.”</p><p>For a beat, Fett just looks at him, and Obi-Wan gets ready for another round—something tells him it’ll be the last, and he isn’t sure he’ll survive. Obi-Wan thinks of Anakin, their connection stretched thin by distance and depth, and then puts his padawan out of his mind. He can’t afford any distraction if he wants to have the chance to go back to him.</p><p>Obi-Wan looks at Fett and knows without a shadow of doubt that the other man’s thinking exactly the same about his son, about the kid Obi-Wan found in that awful room.</p><p>Fett seems—conflicted. He’s close enough Obi-Wan can almost read him, can feel something slipping through his shields and his beskar: hatred and fear and black rage and bone deep exhaustion swirl around him, Obi-Wan can taste them on the back of his tongue, black dirt and freezing water and something sweet and cloying that makes his head pound.</p><p>Obi-Wan twirls his ‘saber, back to Soresu’s starting position, and Fett unholsters his remaining blaster, his mind once again cold and unyielding. And then, he just—stops.</p><p>Something skitters in the darkness.</p><p>Obi-Wan tilts his head, frowns, reaches out with his mind. He can sense... something, alien but aware. His mouth fills with the taste of bile, and he shudders.</p><p>“There is something here,” Fett says. Obi-Wan glances at him, nods.</p><p>“Yes. I can sense it—it’s down there,” Obi-Wan says, nods his head in the direction of the hallway. “It’s not moving.”</p><p>It’s just... there. Watching them. It feels—wrong. Quick and sharp and clever and dangerous.</p><p>“Is it alone?”</p><p>Obi-Wan shifts his grip over his ‘saber, glances back at Fett.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he replies. “I think so.”</p><p>Fett scoffs. He lowers his blaster.</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns, nonplussed, and steps out of Soresu to lift his ‘saber higher, trying to breach the darkness.</p><p>“It’s gone,” he says, confused. “It just... disappeared.”</p><p>Obi-Wan takes a step in the direction of the gallery, his weapon held high over his head. Its blue light barely makes a dent in the darkness—it reveals wet dirt, pale rocks, forgotten tools.</p><p>Obi-Wan turns to Fett. “Your helmet’s sensors,” he says. “How sensitive are they?”</p><p>Fett waits for a beat before answering.</p><p>“Sensitive enough,” Fett says. “What do you mean, ‘it disappeared’? It’s still there.”</p><p>Obi-Wan lowers his ‘saber. His hands feel very cold.</p><p>“I think it’s shielding itself,” he says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>me, three months ago: i've had an idea for the fic but idk if it's too much :( sticking them in a cave for 30k so that they can talk about things may be over the top :(<br/>my friends: DEW IT &gt;:) </p><p> </p><p>anyway see you on thursday :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Monster</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we're to the half-way point!!!!!! unbelievable!!!</p><p>anyway thank you for reading and leaving comments i read them all obsessively &lt;3</p><p>edit: see end notes for A Warning</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s something about the mines, about the thing that popped up on Jango’s HUD, that makes the jetii almost anxious.</p><p>Good, thinks Jango. He chooses a gallery at random and leaves him there without another word. He needs to stop as soon as he can and make sure everything’s working as it should—water’s hell on electronics, and while his armour is more or less waterproofed, it isn’t meant to be taken swimming.</p><p>Jango focuses on that while he walks, while he forces his back to stay straight, his feet to keep moving. He makes his brain stay on task: he scans the area, he looks for a place where he can sit for a couple minutes, he watches for the thing that appeared on his scanners.</p><p>He doesn’t think about the jetii, or about how exhausted and cold he feels, or about his son, or about the fact that the man saved his life.</p><p>
  <em>I know I’m a better man than you’ll ever be, and I want you to know it.</em>
</p><p>Jango hears himself scoff over the grating noise of his own breath. He knows he isn’t a good person—probably never was, even if for a while some people thought so—but even in his lowest moments, at his cruelest and most selfish, he’ll be better than any jetii has ever been.</p><p>The man saved his life, yes. So what? He wanted his lightsaber back, and as he himself admitted, he wanted to be able to lord it over Jango. Jango clenches his jaw and lets his fury warm him, sweep away everything else. For a beat, nothing else matters: he’s a thing made for rage and hatred and death and justice, and his revenge is so close he can almost taste it.</p><p>But then Jango trips on an unseen loose rock, and it’s too much for his tired legs. He tumbles down on the uneven floor, manages to stop himself with a hand on the ground before hitting his face against the rock.</p><p>The rage disappears. Suddenly Jango’s just a tired man, lost in the darkness, who misses his son.</p><p>Jango looks around himself, and his buy’ce’s HUD glitches, wild colours dancing over his visor and distorting what he can see of the mine. The thing’s gone. Jango’s instincts are telling him that he should pay attention to it, but he’s too tired, and anyway, the jetii is an easier prey: if any of them is going to be hunted down by an unknown predator, it’ll be him, not Jango.</p><p>The hallway like every mine gallery Jango has ever had the misfortune to visit. Here and there are rounded, fungi-like growths that shiver and shrink when Jango gets closer, and the ceiling is low enough he scratches it with his buy’ce at times, and it’s dripping wet, the water mixed with unrefined rhydonium.</p><p>The material isn’t as unstable in its natural state, but now and then Jango’s hit with the thought that they may be sitting on top of a ticking bomb, under kark knows how many feet of rock, and he can feel his heartbeat speed up. Jango can’t help but wonder as well why this mine is abandoned—logic says they must have run out of rhydonium to extract, but he isn’t in a very good mood, and his brain keeps playing with the idea that maybe they found it was too unstable to keep working in it, or that it may have been something else, something related to the thing he saw in his scanner, the one the jetii was sure had disappeared.</p><p>His buy’ce doesn’t pick its heat signature anymore.</p><p>There is a stretch of ground that looks almost dry. Jango sighs and makes himself stand up.</p><p>He modified and waterproofed both his kute and his beskar’gam when he moved to Kamino, but what might work against non-stop rain won’t do much against being submerged under water for almost five minutes.</p><p>Jango has a glow stick in one of his pouches. He takes it out and activates it, and then takes off his buy’ce, blinking in the sudden darkness. He brushes a hand through his hair—it’s getting long, longer than he likes wearing it, and he tugs on the curls, his fingers numb and cold inside his gloves.</p><p>The jetii got him out of the water and then managed to breathe life back into him. Jango woke up with the other man hovering over him, his hands resting over Jango’s chest, part of his hal’cabure laying at his side, forgotten, the cold mine air cutting on his face.</p><p>Jango grabs the rag he keeps in one of his pouches—it’s as sodden as everything else, but he takes it out anyway, wrings it out and starts wiping the insides of his buy’ce. He’s shivering so hard his teeth are chattering and the buy’ce keeps slipping from his hold.</p><p>The jetii is dangerous. They all are—they are faster and more resilient than everyone else, and they can learn your darkest secrets with just a glance. But—Ben, or whatever he’s actually called, he’s more dangerous than most. He’s seen actual combat, of this Jango’s sure, and he’s clever, relentless.</p><p>He’s ruthless. He saved Jango’s life when he didn’t have to, and Jango can’t help himself, he keeps poking at it, at the memory of the man’s warm hands under his head. The jetii saved Jango’s life and then helped him reach the other side of the lake and he may be a jetii and Jango would have found another way through but his son’s waiting for him, alone and sick and cold, and the longer it takes him to go back to Boba the longer Boba will think his father has abandoned him, left him behind, and that’s something his hatred and his fury and his need for revenge can’t seem to break through.</p><p>The jetii saved Jango’s life. And Jango may not be good but he likes to think he’s still honorable, and for the longest time he would have been perfectly happy to make an exception for jetiise, but back then Jango didn’t have Boba.</p><p>Something creaks further down the gallery. A whisper, something hard and unyielding rolling over the wet mud. Jango frowns. He puts his buy’ce back on and unholsters his pistol. The HUD takes longer than it should to respond, and something sputters and crackles dangerously close to his right eye, but he manages to switch on the scanner, and he blinks through the different set ups until he finds the heat sensors. They glitch and stutter.</p><p>Jango clenches his jaw and puts his back to the closest wall, cold and wet even through his equally cold and wet kute, and looks around, dragging his mind through pain and exhaustion to alertness.</p><p>He got distracted, thinking about the jetii and his son, and now he’ll pay the price. Jango shakes himself and tries to focus, perfectly aware of the fact that he surpassed his own limits hours and five minutes of unconsciousness ago.</p><p>“Jetii,” he calls out, his voice hoarse, “is that you?”</p><p>There’s no answer. Jango can’t see anything, but his buy’ce’s sensors pick up a skittering noise, like bone hitting beskar—and the round things on the walls and the ceiling are shockingly still, have shrunk to half their size, look more like rocks than organic beings. The acoustics of the mine make it harder to know where the noise is coming from, but Jango’s sure it’s coming closer—the hairs on his arms are standing on their end.</p><p>Haar’chak. Jango lifts up his right arm, flamethrower primed, and snarls under his buy’ce. He is being <em>hunted</em>.</p><p>It happens too fast for thought. Jango sees something from the corner of his eye up on the low ceiling, and he drops and dodges to the right half a second before it—black and shining and with too many limbs—falls almost on top of him.</p><p>He shoots at it, but the blaster shots ping off its shiny black carapace, and the thing hisses, opens a drooling mouth full of needle-like teeth, and jumps again.</p><p>It’s like being hit with speeder. Jango hits the floor, the thing on top of him, its sharp teeth trying without success to bite through his buy’ce, a long, whip-like appendix curling around Jango’s gun arm, slithering over his beskar, and then <em>squeezing</em> until Jango howls inside his helmet.</p><p>He manages to free his other arm and shoots flames at the creature, so close to his own body he can hear his kute fizzle and smell the burnt fabric. The thing hisses again, jumps away, but it doesn’t let go of Jango—it grabs him by his kute, its too many claws piercing the thick fabric easily and breaking the skin underneath, and it holds him up, and it’s so big, how <em>the hell</em> did Jango miss it—</p><p>Jango goes flying. He hits a wall, crashes through it, hits another. His ribs complain—his back feels like a giant bruise—he bites down on his horror and impotence, tries to move, but he can’t, the world is fading to black.</p><p>The last thing he sees before he faints is the thing’s long, black head, and its mouth, grinning and full of teeth.</p><p>*</p><p>Jango wakes up. Everything hurts,</p><p>He doesn’t know where he is. Jango blinks, tries to switch on his buy’ce’s sensors—it takes him longer than it should to notice he’s not wearing one.</p><p>The air smells wrong: humid and warm and sweet. It stinks of things rotting and things growing. It curls around Jango’s lungs, around his brain—it makes him want to go to sleep.</p><p>Jango tries to move—he can’t. He bites down on the terror he feels trying to claw its way through his mind and tries to look around himself. After a while, his eyes get used to the grey darkness.</p><p>He sees a big natural cave, its high ceiling disorienting after so long underground. Under the sickly scent the air smells—cleaner, sweeter, like there is an air current close by that connects to the surface. Jango finds his buy’ce, laying on the ground close to his feet, and he grunts, tries to free himself, but there is something holding him up against the wall at his back. Some kind of cocoon, the material pale and wet.</p><p>Whatever it is has some stretch, but not enough for him to slip under. It feels sticky, and catches on his hair when he looks around—it also feels disturbingly warm, like whatever it is is alive.</p><p>There are things that look like eggs laying in clusters around the floor, hanging from the high floors, growing on the remains of what appears to be pieces of old mining equipment, the durasteel pocked and corroded.</p><p>They glow faintly, a sickly, delicate light that makes Jango’s head hurt, and he can hear a kind of humming coming from them, so deep he feels it in his chest.</p><p>Jango has lost his remaining blaster, but that doesn’t mean he’s unarmed. He unsheathes the blade hidden on his left vambrace, and tries to cut through the thing that’s holding him up against the wall. It’s too tough and flexible: it wraps around Jango’s blade.</p><p>Jango curses out loud, frustrated. He thinks about using his flamethrower again, but he’s running out of fuel, and he’d risk burning himself as well. Explosives are out of the question, but he’s got a couple vibroblades on himself, one of them holstered in the back his belt—it may be able to cut through the cocoon.</p><p>Jango hears a low noise—he tenses and stills and quiets down, tries to move his head enough to see.</p><p>The creature is big and spindly and—wrong. Jango has been all around the galaxy, but he has never seen something like it, and he finds it hard to stare directly at it, like his brain refuses to focus on it. It just—it looks <em>wrong</em>: it has too many limbs, and it doesn’t so much move as it stutters from one place to the other, its long, curved head close to the ground.</p><p>It cradles something in two of its arms—a body.</p><p>The thing has the jetii. Jango can’t tell if the man’s dead or alive. He watches, his heart in his mouth, while the creature grabs the other human by his neck and holds him up to the wall, a couple meters to Jango’s left. Jango swallows and tries to keep stil, for the first time in years feeling the full weight of fear, so scared he doesn’t feel anything else.</p><p>The man grunts, but he doesn’t wake up—the creature sniffs, hisses again, the sound too high, grating against Jango’s unprotected ears, and then something comes out of its stomach, something pale and slick that drips pale liquid. In seconds, the other man is as stuck to the wall as Jango.</p><p>The thing stops. It comes closer to Jango, and he makes himself keep looking at it while it opens its mouth, while it inhales, its breath hitting the skin of his face and making the skin hurt.</p><p>It has something in one of its claws—the jetii’s lightsaber.</p><p>It drops it next to Jango’s buy’ce, and then it leaves.</p><p>Jango waits, shuddering so hard he feels like he’s ratting inside his beskar’gam, counting down seconds in his head, until he’s sure it’s left. And then, hating himself for it, he clears his throat.</p><p>*</p><p>Obi-Wan’s been in a lot of weird situations in his life, even for a Jedi Knight. He has also seen a number of strange, disturbing and wonderful things. Not all of them have been dangerous, but it’s true that he tends to find himself in mortal peril more often than not: he’s almost died many times. He’s been shot at, stabbed, burnt, drowned and whipped, and those are the only ones he can afford to think about with any kind of levity.</p><p>One could say he’s almost used to it—he’s used to pain, to making mistakes and having to face the consequences, to paying dearly every time he gets something wrong.</p><p>Anything could have prepared him for the thing that jumped at him from the darkness. Obi-Wan didn’t see it coming—he was walking, his lightsaber held high, trying to find a way up and out, and then the Force had screamed at him in a way he can’t quite remember ever doing.</p><p>His mouth had filled suddenly with the taste of bile, of pure, dark, overwhelming fear, and then the creature had dropped on top of him, all teeth and stinging black drool.</p><p>Obi-Wan had slashed at it with his lightsaber, and he’d managed to hit it once, twice. The thing had hissed, jumped away and up, still a void in the Force, terrifyingly blank, and then it had grabbed him. Obi-Wan had hit one of the walls head first, and promptly lost consciousness.</p><p>The first thing Obi-Wan sees when he opens his eyes is his lightsaber. The kyber sings to him, and Obi-Wan’s eyes follow its song without thinking, blinking slowly in the low light. He’s in a cave, bigger and taller than any of the many hallways or galleries he’s seen until that moment, and everything hurts.</p><p>Obi-Wan tries to clear his head. He looks around himself, tries to look down his own body, but whatever is holding him in place won’t give—it’s warm, and sticky. It feels alive, and when he pushes, it seems to tighten itself, to grow stronger, more rigid.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>Obi-Wan would like to know what it’s made of. He wonders about the thing, about the creature that attacked him—he’s never in his life seen something like that, has never even read about something like that beast in one of the many books that the Temple Library contains.</p><p>He’d like the chance to see the thing better, but he’d rather it were in a different situation. From very far away, and with a very thick shield of transparisteel between them, if possible.</p><p>“Jetii,” he hears someone say. Obi-Wan blinks. “Jetii, are you alive?”</p><p>Obi-Wan looks to his right and—Fett has been caught as well, it seems. He’s lost his helmet, the beskar shining dimly on the ground, a few meters from where they are, close to his own ‘saber. It feels... purposeful. Like a taunt.</p><p>“Against your best efforts, yes, I am very much alive,” Obi-Wan replies. He sounds awful. That was exceedingly verbose. He must be concussed, he always talks more when he is concussed. His head hurts. “Where are we?”</p><p>If he turns his head, he can see Fett, can look the other man in the eye. He looks as bad as Obi-Wan feels, pale and bloody.</p><p>“I’ve no idea,” the man says. He doesn’t sound too happy—but then again, in the short time Obi-Was has known him, he never has. Fett nods towards Obi-Wan’s ‘saber, and oh, now he understands. He glances back at the Mandalorian, and there’s a part of him that wants to gloat.</p><p>“Can you reach that?” Fett asks. “With your... abilities.”</p><p>He sounds so <em>polite</em>. He must be hating it.</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t answer immediately. He closes his eyes and reaches for the Force. It answers his call, but it’s slow, sluggish—even his bond with Anakin feels worn down, and it’s not just the distance. He’s very tired, he’s been exhausted for days—and now he’s also hurt, and in pain, and scared.</p><p>Obi-Wan breathes in, breathes out, tries to picture himself back in the Temple, in his rooms, kneeling on his meditation mat with his back to the window and the twilight sun hitting his robes like a warm caress.</p><p>“Jetii?” Fett calls him again, and Obi-Wan can hear him curse, mutter something in Mando’a he doesn’t quite understand under his breath.</p><p>Obi-Wan opens his eyes again.</p><p>“Yes. I can,” he answers. And a better man would have kept his mouth shut, but Obi-Wan’s tired and cold and hurt and scared, and he’s never been that decent, and he thinks he deserves to be as petty as he likes. “Maybe I should wait until we are out of here to tell you this, but just in case that thing murders us before we manage to do that: I told you so.”</p><p>He turns back to Fett. The man’s looking at him, his dark eyes full of something that Obi-Wan knows perfectly well is hate.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He ignores Fett, and focuses on his lightsaber, so close but so far away at the same time. The kyber answers him, its song getting louder, clearer, cleaner—Obi-Wan smiles. It’s comforting, even if reaching out to it is harder than it should, even if he feels his pounding headache worsen.</p><p>The lightsaber rises in the air—Obi-Wan can follow its movements with his mind. He levitates it closer, now frowning, and tilts his head—he hears the plasma blade come out with a hum, and its familiar aftertaste, of ozone and hot metal, fills his mouth.</p><p>The next step will be the hardest.</p><p>Obi-Wan moves the blade closer, heat and home and danger <em>dangerdangerDANGER</em>, so close to his left shoulder his jacket begins to smoke. The thread-like things that are holding him to the wall sizzle and melt, and a drop falls on his hand, makes him wince—the ‘saber wobbles, and Obi-Wan hears Fett gasp, say something under his breath.</p><p>After that it’s children’s play, however—Obi-Wan cuts through the cocoon and falls down to the ground. His knees sink in the ground, and for a beat he isn’t sure he’ll be able to stand up again. But he raises a hand and—there. His lightsaber hits his palm with a smack.</p><p>Obi-Wan opens his eyes and straightens up, and then turns back to Fett, steps closer to the other man.</p><p>The Mandalorian just stares at him, his dark eyes weirdly flat, his face blank. Obi-Wan can’t read him—he’s shielding again.</p><p>“Please don’t move,” Obi-Wan says. His voice sounds hoarse—he’s so tired. He clears his throat. “I do not want to cut off something you’d rather not lose.”</p><p>Fett scoffs. “I don’t think moving will be a problem, jetii,” he replies, his voice dripping sarcasm.</p><p>He can’t quite hide the relief.</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts.</p><p>He makes quick work of Fett’s bindings, and then takes a step back, letting the man get himself to his feet on his own time. Obi-Wan sees his helmet laying on the floor, a few meters from where he is standing. He calls it to his hand.</p><p>It’s heavier than it looks, but for some reason Obi-Wan thought it’d be even heavier—it attracts his attention in a way most objects just don’t do.</p><p>“Here,” Obi-Wan says, and turns back to Fett, the man’s helmet in his left hand, his ‘saber still thrumming in his right. The man blinks, glances back down to his helmet and then back up to Obi-Wan’s face. He’s as hard to read as always, and Obi-Wan’s too tired to try. “We should get out of here before that thing returns.”</p><p>Fett nods. He takes his helmet back, puts it back on. He doesn’t say anything, but Obi-Wan’s not surprised—he didn’t expect him to. He sighs, rubs his face, winces when he graces his broken nose. It doesn’t even hurt anymore—everything feels like a giant bruise. He turns back to Fett.</p><p>“I would suggest we agree on a truce,” Obi-Wan says. “Until we find a way to get out of here.”</p><p>For a beat, the Mandalorian just stares at him, face hidden under his helmet—then he nods, sharp and jerky, just once, the movement barely there and gone.</p><p>“Very well,” Obi-Wan says. “That’s great. Any ideas about which way we should go?”</p><p>The main cavern is surrounded by entryways. Fett points to one of them.</p><p>“That’s the one the creature came in through when it brought you here.”</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns. He tries to reach out for the Force, to see if it’s a good or a bad idea, but it’s like trying to swim in sand. He shrugs.</p><p>“I chose it for a reason, but it might not be such a good idea to go that way again.”</p><p>Fett doesn’t ask him to elaborate. He just nods again, and then begins to walk towards a different hallway.</p><p>“Where are you going?”</p><p>“Something’s coming,” Fett says.</p><p>Obi-Wan throws one last look in the other hallway’s direction, and then makes himself move, his ‘saber still held up high. His limbs feel as if they were made of lead, and he’s so cold he can’t feel his fingers, but he’s still alive, and so is Anakin—he can feel him through their bond, anxious and scared but safe, that’s what’s important: he is safe—and after everything that’s happened in the last few hours, well—that’s almost enough.</p><p>*</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t know how long they’ve been underground, but it must have been at least two or three hours—by now, the sun will be rising on the surface. Unhappiness, bitter like cinders, slips through Fett’s shields. Obi-Wan walks beside him, his ‘saber raised high and illuminating the hallway in front of them, and wonders about what the other man is thinking about.</p><p>About his son, maybe—about how much he hates Obi-Wan, and how disappointed he must be he has to stop trying to kill him while they find a way out of there.</p><p>Fett’s hatred isn’t personal—the Jedi did something awful twenty years ago, and as far as Obi-Wan knows, they never tried to find the Mandalorian after Galidraan’s governor had him disappeared, never tried to make amends with the few members of his faction that survived the attack. They helped Satine’s father when he asked for their help, though, and then assisted her when she had to run for her life, helped the New Mandalorians win the Civil War and conquer Sundari. If Fett has been alive for the last twenty years, it isn’t actually a surprise that the man hates them, hates the Order, with such viciousness.</p><p>It does <em>feel </em>kind of personal, though. Obi-Wan’s the one who has had his nose broken, and it’s his padawan who is in danger, even if he finds it hard to believe that a Mandalorian—and Fett still behaves like one, even if he apparently has cut all ties with his old allies—would hurt a child.</p><p>His arm hurts, the muscles overworked. Obi-Wan shifts his grip on his lightsaber and feels Fett’s attention zero in on him. The blue blade shines off Fett’s <em>beskar’gam</em>, colours the unpainted metal. Obi-Wan frowns.</p><p>It’s been years, but Obi-Wan remembers learning about the different colours meant—orange for life, white for new beginnings, brown for bravery, green for duty.</p><p>Fett’s so hard to read—and Obi-Wan has always been more curious than he should. He doesn’t think he likes him much—he’s violent and stubborn, and Obi-Wan’s heard about him, knows about his reputation: if Fett ever had morals, he doesn’t anymore.</p><p>But maybe that’s the thing—Fett might be an amoral asshole, but once upon a time he wasn’t. Obi-Wan heard the stories when he was on Mandalore, and they always felt like something out of a fairy tale. The young ‘alor, who had stepped up when his father was killed and carried his mantle until he fell into a trap, was betrayed, and disappeared.</p><p>Fett’s so closed off, so inescrutable, that it makes Obi-Wan want to know what he thinks, how his brain works.</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t think they’re going up, but he can see newer equipment, more tools, even empty barrels of rhydonium. There are rails on the ground, the durasteel barely peeking over the mud, and forgotten carts they need to vault over.</p><p>Fett has been keeping an eye on his helmet’s scanners, but if the creature has noticed they are gone, it hasn’t come looking yet. Obi-Wan keeps trying to find it, despite his headache and the fact that he’s so tired that trying to draw on the Force with any kind of finesse is like driving a speeder through the Coruscant Temple mess at lunch time.</p><p>Obi-Wan can’t find the creature. The mine is full of other beings, small points of light in the Force: insects and small predators and the strange, round fungi that seem to be everywhere. Most of them are the size of his closed fist, but some of them are much bigger. They’re either too simple to be sentient or too alien for him to be able to see them as sentient, but the fungi are aware of their presence, and they seem to shiver every time they get too close.</p><p>Obi-Wan’s pretty sure they are the same species as some other fungi common to planets like Felucia, but he’s never seen them grow underground—as far as he knows, they need sunlight to thrive, even if they are nominally fungi and not plant life.</p><p>He’s trying to remember the species’s proper scientific name when Fett stops walking. Obi-Wan frowns when he sees why.</p><p>The hallway they are in continues on and on, disappears into darkness—it also widens slightly, and its ceiling is slightly higher, tall enough that Obi-Wan doesn’t have to be careful with his head for once. At the right hand side there is some kind of structure. The grey plasteel shines grey in the darkness like some kind of beacon.</p><p>The thing looks old, but it’s out of the way, and it has a door, and anyway—they’re exhausted. They’ll need to stop and rest sooner rather than later, and they might as well do it somewhere with four durasteel walls and a door.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Fett asks when Obi-Wan approaches the structure. He doesn’t turn to look at the Mandalorian, even if he can feel the skin on the back of his neck prickle.</p><p>“We need to rest,” Obi-Wan replies. “We might as well do it here.”</p><p>There is no power down there, not anymore. Obi-Wan tries the door’s button once, twice, and then sighs.</p><p>“Move,” Fett says at his back. Obi-Wan turns to look back at him. The man’s carrying what appears to be some kind of crowbar in his right hand. Obi-Wan obeys, and then watches while the Mandalorian pries the door open, eyebrows raised.</p><p>“We need to be able to close it again,” Obi-Wan comments. Fett ignores him.</p><p>“Turn off that thing. This place’s small,” Fett says instead.</p><p>Obi-Wan shortens the blade with a flick of his ring finger, and then steps inside.</p><p>The blue light illuminates the insides of what once must have been a kind of control room. It’s mostly dry but dusty, and it stinks of mold, of humidity and rot and rusting metal.</p><p>Obi-Wan helps Fett close the door once again, and afterwards they just stand there, staring at each other. There’s a computer board to the side, the remains of a chair next to it, a tall metal cupboard on the other side of the room that once must have contained files. A moldy long jacket—clearly made for a being much bigger than any of them and in a cut that Obi-Wan believes he has seen in holos from the Old Republic days—hangs from a peg in the wall.</p><p>The computer equipment looks as old as the jacket. Obi-Wan approaches a cracked screen, pushes one of the buttons in the keyboard.</p><p>“This place must be older than I thought,” he says, more to himself than to Fett. The other man’s silence makes him feel as if it was Obi-Wan’s duty to fill it. “This thing must be at least five hundred years old.”</p><p>Fett doesn’t answer. He’s just standing there, head tilted—he’s either scanning their surroundings or just watching Obi-Wan, maybe thinking of the best way to kill him once they’re out of there. Or maybe Fett has just come to the conclusion that it’s not worth it waiting, and that he’d rather do it now.</p><p>Fett sighs. He straightens and then takes off his helmet. Obi-Wan, who had tensed up, just blinks at him for a beat, and Fett smirks, fast and knowing, his dark eyes reflecting the light of the plasma blade. He drops to the floor with a grunt, leans his back against one of the walls. After a beat Obi-Wan does the same, his ‘saber still in his hand.</p><p>The heat of the plasma blade slowly warms up the air between them, fills it with the stink of ozone and metal, and Obi-Wan sighs. He knocks his head against the wall once and grimaces. His whole face hurts and he can’t breathe that well. He thinks he might be able to set his own nose himself, but there is no way in hell he is handing his lightsaber to Fett.</p><p>Sitting down may have been a mistake. Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s aware of how cold he is, how badly everything hurts—he’s got at least one cracked rib, he thinks, and one of his ankles feels tender, likely sprained. He’s still wet, and whatever the creature used to stick them to the walls has left the skin of his hands and neck feeling itchy.</p><p>His head hurts, hunger and lack of sleep and Force exhaustion.</p><p>He’d be in a worse mood if Fett didn’t look as bad as Obi-Wan feels.</p><p>Small victories.</p><p>The Mandalorian’s doing something to his helmet, fiddling with its insides with a pretty spectacular scowl that for once isn’t directed to Obi-Wan. He has taken out some tools from one of his many belt pouches and is trying to do something to the visor, squinting his eyes in the darkness.</p><p>“I could come closer, if you need the light,” Obi-Wan says. He knows what it’ll be the man’s answer, but he’s always found it hard to keep his mouth shut.</p><p>Fett’s eyes flicker up and away, and his scowls deepens, but he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He folds his knees up, leans his right arm over them, and tries to keep himself awake. He should meditate, but his ‘saber is the only source of light, and again: he’s not about to let Fett borrow his weapon.</p><p>Fett took it from him, earlier. Obi-Wan barely remembers the swim down the not-lake, but he does remember with shocking clarity how it felt to find his weapon in one of the man’s pouches. The Mandalorian had bothered to grab his lightsaber, to put it away somewhere where it’d be safe, where nobody else would ever find it.</p><p>He doubts it was as a sign of respect.</p><p>The plasma blade drops too much. It touches the plasteel floor, and the material sizzles—Obi-Wan jumps, blinks the sleep from his eyes.</p><p>“You can switch that off if you want,” Fett says. He has his helmet back on—he must be done with the repairs. Obi-Wan keeps his face blank, but he wants to scowl—he’s lost time. “I don’t go back on my word.”</p><p>Obi-Wan shakes his head. He snorts, and the motion makes him grimace—his nose hurts like hell.</p><p>“You’ve tried to kill me... I can’t quite remember how many times it’s been, honestly.”</p><p>Four. Four? He really isn’t sure. Does this whole mining trip count as one or does each attempt need to be counted individually?</p><p>Fett doesn’t say anything, and Obi-Wan’s too tired to try to read him. He keeps talking.</p><p>“How many times have you tried to kill me just this past week? I would say it has been four, but I am not quite sure. That seems excessive.”</p><p>The Mandalorian stays still and quiet—Obi-Wan wonders if he’s fallen asleep. He sighs, shifts his grip on his lightsaber, and wishes he could fall asleep as well. The metal under his right palm is the only thing in this karking room that’s anything close to warm.</p><p>“I can make it five, if you’d like,” the Mandalorian’s voice catches him by surprise. Obi-Wan blinks, raises his chin.</p><p>“I thought you had fallen asleep,” he answers truthfully.</p><p>“How? You won’t shabla shut up.”</p><p>“I am sorry,” Obi-Wan lies. “I am reasonably sure I have a concussion. As I can tell from experience, it does seem to override whatever filters I may have.”</p><p>Fett mutters something under his breath. After a beat, he speaks again.</p><p>“You can turn that off. I won’t do anything.”</p><p>Obi-Wan scoffs again, disbelieving. The man tenses.</p><p>“Four times,” he reminds the other man, and Fett grunts.</p><p>“Clearly I haven’t been trying very hard,” he snaps back, his Concordian accent thicker with exhaustion. “Or it would have only taken one.”</p><p>“Maybe. I have found I am extremely hard to kill.”</p><p>If it sounds like Obi-Wan’s gloating—well. He may be, but he is not lying.</p><p>He has survived everything the galaxy has thrown at him, and that has been quite a lot, for someone who has not been alive for thirty years.</p><p>“I’ve noticed.”</p><p>Obi-Wan snorts, grimaces again.</p><p>“Did you have to break my nose?” he asks, not really expecting an answer.</p><p>“Would you rather I had broken your neck?”</p><p>“I would take a broken neck over a broken nose right now if it came with a warm bed,” Obi-Wan says honestly. “A warm bed and a shower.”</p><p>The Mandalorian doesn’t answer, but something in the quality of his silence tells Obi-Wan he doesn’t exactly disagree.</p><p>Fett must hate that.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He switches off his ‘saber. He won’t sleep—he is concussed, and he’d like to wake up again. But meditating will do him good. He tenses up for a few seconds, waiting for Fett to make his move, for anything at all to happen—but nothing does. The other man stays where he is, helmet on and back against the wall.</p><p>“I can take the first guard, but we shouldn’t stay here for long,” he says, catching Obi-Wan by surprise again.</p><p>“I won’t be sleeping,” Obi-Wan replies. He changes positions, folds his knees under himself, grimacing when his sprained ankle twists. “But I don’t exactly disagree.”</p><p>“What are you doing, then, if you’re not sleeping.”</p><p>The helmet distorts his voice, but Obi-Wan can hear the disbelief perfectly well from where he’s sitting.</p><p>“I will meditate. I can keep watch. If something comes I will tell you,” he says.</p><p>“Last time you didn’t see that thing coming,” Fett says.</p><p>As if Obi-Wan needed the reminder.</p><p>“Every living being leaves a ripple in the Force,” he answers, his eyes already closed. He hears Fett scoff, and he frowns before forcing himself to let go of his annoyance at the man’s mocking incredulity. “I can’t read that thing but every other being in that hallway will feel it coming. And I can sense them.”</p><p>Fett falls quiet, and Obi-Wan allows himself half a second to savour his victory before letting go of that feeling as well and sinking into the Force.</p><p>Obi-Wan falls into a light healing trance, pokes the training bond that links him to Anakin, lets his padawan know that he’s alive and mostly whole.</p><p>It takes him longer than it should to empty his mind, but once does, Obi-Wan lets the familiar feeling comfort him. He is one with the Force and the Force is with him and that means that while he may be hurt, scared and exhausted, everything will be alright if he trusts in his connection to it.</p><p>And Obi-Wan has not always trusted himself—but trusting the Force comes easily.</p><p>Something catches Obi-Wan’s attention, and he blinks his eyes open. His knees hurt, but everything else seems further away, easier to bear. He rotates his neck and hears it crack.</p><p>The darkness seems... lighter. Obi-Wan finds the source of light quickly—his lightsaber is right where he left it, lying in front of him on the ground, but somehow Fett has managed to fix one of the old emergency lights, and the small space is softly illuminated.</p><p>It’s not strong enough to be seen from the outside, but it does make things easier—Obi-Wan has never been afraid of the dark, not when there are so many other things to be afraid of, but it feels oppressive.</p><p>“What’s wrong now?” Fett says. Obi-Wan looks at him. The man’s taken off his helmet again, and soon Obi-Wan understands the reason behind the light—he’s got what he guesses must be part of its inner conduits spread on the ground in front of him.</p><p>Fett doesn’t look as intimidating without it—he’s just a man, closer to forty than to thirty, brown-skinned and dark-haired, handsome if perfectly normal looking. His hair’s grown longer since the first time Obi-Wan saw him helmetless, and a wild curl tinged falling in front of his eyes.</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks, once, twice, and he clears his throat before closing his eyes again, reaching out with his mind.</p><p>The fungi are calm, or as calm as a patch of overgrown mold can be. When Obi-Wan focuses on them, his mouth tastes of something green and living dark. It’s not unpleasant.</p><p>“No, I don’t think so,” Obi-Wan answers. He opens his eyes, and watches for a while in silence while Fett reassembles his helmet. Obi-Wan bites the inside of his cheek for an instant, considering. “Everything all right with your helmet?”</p><p>Fett shrugs. He doesn’t raise his eyes from what he is doing, his attention completely focused on his task. He seems almost at ease.</p><p>“Water’s hell on <em>beskar’gam </em>if it’s not designed for it,” he says, and then shuts his mouth. His hands stop, and he scowls down at his work for a second before going on.</p><p>He doesn’t say anything else, and while Obi-Wan can read the room perfectly well, and knows that the polite thing would be to let the Mandalorian work in peace, he finds he hurts too much to do so.</p><p>“You were the one who thought it was a good idea to begin throwing around explosives while underground,” Obi-Wan says blandly.</p><p>Fett’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t say anything back in reply.</p><p>It’s not as if Obi-Wan isn’t right, anyway—what would he say?</p><p>Obi-Wan knows he is behaving like a—like an immature teenager. It’s a side of him that Anakin’s begun to bring out in Obi-Wan as he grows older and smarter, and now apparently it also comes out without his padawan’s help.</p><p>“We should think of a way to get out of here,” Obi-Wan says instead. Fett relaxes slightly, and glances back at him before nodding.</p><p>“Some of those terminals might still work. Could try and find some blueprints. Some maps,” Fett says when he’s done. He doesn’t put his helmet back on, however, and stares at Obi-Wan, a quizzical look in his face. Obi-Wan raises a brow, but doesn’t call any attention to it otherwise.</p><p>“I thought there was no power,” Obi-Wan says instead. “How did you fix that lamp, anyway?”</p><p>Fett shrugs and lowers his gaze. He rubs at his hair, makes a face when his fingers get caught in a snarl.</p><p>Fetty obviously doesn’t give a single shit about the hows or the whys—only about the fact that it works, somehow.</p><p>Obi-Wan hums.</p><p>“Could you do that,” Obi-Wan nods to the lamp, “with one of the terminals? I’m a decent slicer but not a very good mechanic.”</p><p>The Mandalorian sighs. He nods and, with a last look to Obi-Wan, he carefully stands up. His flight suit still looks wet, and he moves like he’s as cold and tired as Obi-Wan, but he’s not as tense—their rest, as short as it might have been, has been good for him as well.</p><p>“Who fixed the ship, then?” Fett asks. Obi-Wan stills. “I saw the shuttle. Whoever fixed the engines and everything else did a karking good job.”</p><p>Obi-Wan could lie—he could say that he did that, even if he just admitted he’s not good with electronics. After all, fixing a ship is not the same as messing with some wires. But Fett has already seen Anakin, and the man’s too clever. Fett would see through Obi-Wan’s lie—and Obi-Wan can’t afford any breach in the fragile trust he feels they’ve managed to build between them.</p><p>“My padawan did that,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes fixed on Fett. The man stops moving, glances back at him, face unreadable, and then kneels to poke at the lower part of one of the terminals.</p><p>“The kid’s your—what. Your brother? Your son?” Fett sounds profoundly disbelieving. He manages to pry off one of the metal boards, and lets it drop with a dull clang. He begins to take out wires, and Obi-Wan just stares at him, trying to read how the man feels about this.</p><p>“He’s my padawan. My apprentice,” Obi-Wan says.</p><p>Fett doesn’t say anything for a while, apparently focused on his work, but Obi-Wan can feel him thinking, that dangerous brain of his poking at this new piece of information.</p><p>“And what are a jetii and his jetii apprentice doing in a place like this,” he says, voice dripping disinterest that’s only partially feigned. “This is not the kind of place the Republic sends one of yours to.”</p><p>“Because you know so much about how the Jedi Order and the Senate of the Republic operate,” Obi-Wan snarks back. He changes positions on the floor, getting his legs from under himself. His knees twinge, but he ignores the pain, his attention on Fett, who’s glaring back at him.</p><p>“I know more than enough,” the bounty hunter replies. “You jetiise only go where the Senate sends you, and you are only sent where the Senate thinks there are credits to be made.”</p><p>It’s not an inaccurate description of how the Senate works, exactly, but Obi-Wan scowls, offended despite himself. Obi-Wan’s a karking adult, it’s been years and years since the last time he thought the system he serves and works for is perfect.</p><p>“Said the bounty hunter,” Obi-Wan replies. “I’ve heard about you, Jango Fett. You are not exactly a paragon of virtue.”</p><p>Fettn scoffs. He doesn’t look at Obi-Wan, but he can see him scowling.</p><p>“At least I’m honest about it.”</p><p>“You hunt down people for credits. That doesn’t give you the moral high ground, even if you are honest about it.”</p><p>Whatever Fett’s going to say is interrupted by a zapping noise. Fett yelps, takes out his hand out of the old terminal’s innards, and one of the screens turns on with a whirr, bathing the small room in sickly green light.</p><p>Obi-Wan stands up. He puts his ‘saber in the inner pocket of his jacket, not for the first time missing his robes and his belt, and approaches the computer. Fett moves out of the way, shaking his right hand and still scowling.</p><p>He’s a solid presence at Obi-Wan’s right while he deals with the terminal’s old... everything. There are references in its logs to events Obi-Wan barely remembers from his history classes back when he was an initiate, or from things he had to research for Qui-Gon every time they had to mediate some economic dispute.</p><p>Some of the logs and archives he finds are heavily corrupted, and others are just missing from the system. Either the owners of the mine took the servers when they left or they’re too decayed to work at all anymore.</p><p>Obi-Wan frowns, his cold fingers flying over the keyboard, trying commands and pathways without success—at his side, Fett just looks at him, all cool patience. He seems perfectly content to wait and watch, like he knows there isn’t much that can be done except what Obi-Wan’s already doing.</p><p>When Obi-Wan finds the blueprints, he can help the exhale of relief that escapes his mouth. Fett immediately focuses on the screen, his armoured shoulder grazing Obi-Wan’s arm.</p><p>“What have you found?”</p><p>Obi-Wan can feel himself smiling, grinning, even. He taps the screen with a fingernail.</p><p>“Blueprints. They won’t be completely accurate, they are at least five hundred years out of date, but I’m guessing they’ll make finding a way out of here much easier.”</p><p>However, because things cannot go too well for Obi-Wan—and he’s beginning to notice that Fett’s luck is almost as bad as his own—the only way out that they know for sure isn’t blocked cuts through the big nesting cavern where they woke up.</p><p>Obi-Wan looks at Fett—the man stares back at him.</p><p>“At least we know how to get out of here,” Obi-Wan says.</p><p>Fett shakes his head, and puts his helmet back on.</p><p>*</p><p>It might be because it’s Jango’s first time interacting with a jetii in a non-violent way, but he finds Ben almost uncanny. Sure, the first few times Jango saw him he looked normal enough—another beroya, too good a fighter not to know it and arrogant about it.</p><p>Now that the jetii has stopped hiding what he is, it’s like a new person has appeared from nothing. Or maybe not from nothing: he’s still the same man, arrogant and cocky, always ready with a quip or a smirk—but he’s also something <em>more</em>.</p><p>Jango kept watch while the man <em>meditated</em>, whatever that actually is. He just sat on the floor for almost an hour, perfectly unmoving, his face blank and his breathing so slow Jango began to think he was dead. It should have made him an easy prey—the jetii had let go of his weapon, had left the lightsaber lying on the floor in front of him, and he had his eyes closed.</p><p>The man’s stillness was the kind that contains the promise of violence, of sudden and decisive motion. And so Jango had kept watch, and watched the jetii, and fixed his buy’ce, and thought about blue lights shining in the dark.</p><p>There’s no way the jetii could have been on Galidraan. He looks young, early thirties at the most—he would have been thirteen or so at the time. And Jango has never thought about that, hasn’t allowed himself to: for the longest time, the Jedi Order has just been the thing that killed his family and his future and then sold him into slavery.</p><p>They don’t complain about the cold or a broken nose, and they certainly do not care for children.</p><p>But the jetii—Ben, or whatever he is actually called—does. When Jango asked him about the kid he went all still and quiet, and Jango <em>felt </em>him trying to reach out to him, to read his mind, or whatever they do, the feeling almost familiar after his half a dozen meetings with Tyrannus.</p><p>He thought about lying, the jetii, but then he told Jango the truth: the kid Jango has been tasked to find and sell is good with machines and mechanics and electronics—he’s also the jetii’s. And Jango might not know or care much about jetii customs and traditions and all their secret words, about their secret language—but he understands that. Jango understands it perfectly well, and he doesn’t like the fact that he does, or what it means for him and his chances of being able to use that jetii kid to free his own son.</p><p>Jango never liked that plan—children are children, after all—but now he likes it even less.</p><p>“There’s a way out through here,” the jetii’s saying. The terminal screen is cracked in half, and the image keeps shivering, threatening to melt away. The man stares at it with a frown on his face, the shine of the display dyeing his skin green, turning the blue-grey of his eyes paler. Jango focuses back on the blueprints. He immediately sees what the jetii means—one of the few galleries that move upwards instead of just going deeper into the earth or the mountains is the one that crosses the cavern where the creature took them.</p><p>“We need to go back,” the jetii says. He glances at Jango. “Anything on your sensors?”</p><p>Jango shakes his head once. “You?”</p><p>“Nothing at all, but as we have seen, that doesn't mean anything,” the jetii replies. He sounds annoyed. Not with Jango though—with himself.</p><p>Apparently the jetii has found how most people live their lives and he isn’t a fan. Jango rolls his eyes inside his buy’ce.</p><p>“The fungi seem calm, at least,” the man says then. Jango blinks, confused. Again with the fungi.</p><p>“What does that even mean.”</p><p>“The mold,” the jetii replies. Jango just stares at him. “The round things. They are fungi, more or less. It’s the first time I have seen them underground, since as far as I know this specific species actually needs sunlight to thrive, but their mother species is all over the galaxy. They are actually quite interesting—well, most fungi are, I guess, but this species in particular is almost sentient and, well.”</p><p>The jetii turns back to the screen. “Anyway. They are terrified of that creature, and now that I know that they are, I will know to pay attention to how they feel.”</p><p>What the <em>kark</em>.</p><p>“That’s... .“ Jango’s at a loss. “That’s something.”</p><p>“It is, yes.”</p><p>The jetii glances back at him, and Jango finds himself trying and failing to read the expression on his face. For a beat they just stare at each other. Not for the first time, Jango is glad he is wearing his buy’ce—he doesn’t know what his face is doing, and he doesn’t think he wants to, either.</p><p>The jetii clears his throat and looks down once again.</p><p>“Shall we go, then?”</p><p>Instead of answering, Jango approaches the exit. He turns on the heat scanners, and waits for half a minute—no heat signatures.</p><p>The jetii helps him pry open the door, and then he takes out his lightsaber from the inside of his jacket and lights it before stepping outside. He did something to the blade to make it shorter, and now it grows once again in length until it’s as long as it was before. He raises it high, and looks around himself, his face weirdly blank.</p><p>When Jango follows him out he looks at him over his shoulder, and it’s like it takes him half a second to remember where he is, who Jango is. He blinks, and then frowns.</p><p>“Where’s your blaster? Didn’t you have two?”</p><p>Jango shrugs. He lost it when the thing grabbed him. He isn't happy about it, he’d had those guns for years, but while he’ll miss them, their absence doesn’t mean he’s unarmed.</p><p>Despite everything, he is still Mando’ad. He never is.</p><p>“I lost them.”</p><p>“You lost them?”</p><p>“They are just blasters.” Jango shrugs again. “I can always get another pair.”</p><p>The jetii just looks at him, his head tilted. He sighs, and then he unholsters the weapon that still hangs from his hip and offert it Jango, butt first.</p><p>“This might be the dumbest idea I’ve had today,” the jetii says, “but I think you should have this.”</p><p>For a beat, Jango just looks at the other man, for the first time genuinely surprised by him.</p><p>“Fett?”</p><p>Jango grabs the blaster. Another Westar, old but solid. He actually used to own a gun just like this one—he lost it in Galidraan, and by the time he managed to get his beskar’gam back, it was long gone.</p><p>A gun is just a gun, but it hurt, that loss. It had been a gift from Jaster.</p><p>Jango turns the weapon in his hand, checks the safety and the sightline, ejects the charge pack and puts it back inside. He clears his throat.</p><p>“You should take better care of your weapons,” he hears himself say. “This blaster’s a bad day from exploding in your hand.”</p><p>The jetii just smiles at him, perfectly bland.</p><p>“You’re welcome. Please don’t use it to shoot me in the back,” he replies. He points ahead with his lightsaber. “Shall we go?”</p><p>*</p><p>It takes them shorter than it should to get back to the cavern, or at least the trip feels strangely fast. The... fungi act like fungi, and nothing shows up on Jango’s scanners either. As they come closer, he feels himself tensing up, and the jetii’s demeanor changes, his usually animated face losing all its expressiveness.</p><p>It’s uncanny and more than a little disturbing, but Jango thinks it has something to do with the Force, or so he hopes, and he leaves the other man to it, even if the way the jetii begins to twirl his lightsaber grates on his nerves—it’s like he’s getting used to the non-existent weight of the plasma blade.</p><p>It’s a beautiful thing, that lightsaber. Much better cared for than the gun that now hangs from Jango’s belt, that’s for sure, and from what he has seen, very well crafted.</p><p>The only things he knows about jetii and their weapons is that the kyber that all of them contain is amazingly expensive, and that they guard the places in the galaxy where one can find such a thing like rabid dogs. Jango’s been to Jedha, and he’s heard rumours about a planet almost on the frontier with Wild Space, but that’s it. As a man whose previous experience with both jetii and their weapons has always been at the wrong side of the latter, Jango has never had either the chance or the inclination to even think that much about them.</p><p>The scanners are silent, and the jetii keeps quiet as well. Jango uses the moment of respite to check once again his buy’ce’s sensors—he’s used to taking care of repairs, it’s been years since the last time he could depend on a goran for this kind of thing, but there’s a part of him that’ll never trust his own repairs as much as he used to trust Jaster’s old Forgemaster.</p><p>Jango heard that she died six or seven years ago in her family’s farm back in Keldabe—that’s what one of the trainers told him. Apparently she had known that Jango wasn’t dead, that he had survived Galidraan—but Jango didn’t want to know what she thought about him, about his choices, and when the Gilamar tried to tell him anyway Jango shut him down.</p><p>She probably would disapprove. She was one of Jaster’s—she was old school. A good woman, but stubborn.</p><p>She would have spit on him for what he has agreed to do, for his agreement with Tyrannus—she wouldn’t have understood.</p><p>Then again, she wasn’t on Galidraan when it happened.</p><p>“We’re close,” the jetii suddenly says. His voice drags Jango out of his own head, and just for that he’d be grateful, if the man was anybody else.</p><p>Jango checks the scanners.</p><p>“I don’t see anything,” he says. He doesn’t sound like himself, but either the jetii doesn’t notice or just doesn’t care.</p><p>From the way he tilts his head, Jango would swear it’s the latter.</p><p>“I don’t sense anything, either,” the jetii replies, and Jango frowns. He can hear the implicit ‘yet’.</p><p>When the man stops walking, Jango stops by his side, and crosses his arms.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“This feels like a trap,” the jetii says.</p><p>“I thought you said you couldn’t sense that thing.”</p><p>“And I can’t, but I wasn’t born yesterday,” the jetii apuses. He twirls his lightsaber once again, and the blue glow shines off the mud, off Jango’s beskar, the blade so hot he can feel it despite his armour. “Let us go, then. If this is a trap, we shall spring it.”</p><p>At first, it seems as if the jetii’s instincts were wrong—the cavern is empty except for the nests, exactly as they left it. Jango can see what’s left of the cocoon-like structures they woke up in still hanging from one of the walls. The place is warmer than the rest of the mines, and it stinks of something organic and cloying that slips easily past Jango’s buy’ce’s filters and makes him grimace.</p><p>“It’s through that one,” Jango says, his voice lower than it’s probably necessary. He checks his buy’ce’s scanners again—they’re still alone.</p><p>“I know,” the jetii says. He’s stopped in the middle of the room, head tilted, his right hand holding his lightsaber in a dangerously lax hold.</p><p>“Let’s move. There is nothing—“ Jango interrupts himself. He changes displays in his HUD, and— there’s something coming.</p><p>“Fett. Where?” the jetii doesn’t sound surprised. He raises his weapon, the stance familiar, and moves until his back faces Jango’s. Jango unholsters his borrowed blaster, ejects the clip and puts it back again, clicks off the safety.</p><p>“Not sure.” Jango scowls, tries to reorient himself without leaving his back unprotected, and the jetii moves with him easily. “It’s coming closer. Mind the ceiling.”</p><p>“I always do.”</p><p>They wait—nothing happens. Jango shifts his hand over his borrowed blaster, trying to get used to the weirdly familiar grip. He hurts, and he’s tired, and his kute never actually dried and it’s starting to stink to hell, and it’s harder than it should to just focus, to leave all of those things out of his mind.</p><p>“Get ready,” the jetii suddenly says.</p><p>Jango swallows—he hears his throat click—and nods.</p><p>It does jump at them from the ceiling. Jango begins to shoot without barely even thinking about it, teeth bared under his buy’ce. The thing moves, fast, too fast for something that big, and shooting at it is like throwing rocks at a starcruiser—the blaster bolts don’t even leave a mark in its shiny, black carapace.</p><p>It drops to the ground, screeches, the sound so loud it hurts Jango’s ears, and he has barely half a second to get ready when he sees the way its standing, the way its back limbs twist and fold, like it’s—</p><p>“Move,” the jetii says at his back. He doesn’t wait for Jango to obey—he pushes him out of the way, and Jango goes with the movement, trips, manages not to fall down to the ground, turns around to watch, and sees from his peripheral vision how the thing jumps at them, its whip-like tail slashing at the place where he just was.</p><p>The jetii blocks its strikes with his lightsaber, the blue blade moving so fast it looks like a solid shield, and the thing hisses, recoils once, twice, its long black head and its emaciated body sizzling.</p><p>It isn’t running away—Jango has never seen something like it, but he’s been hunting for years, and he knows hunters—he’s one of them. He raises his blaster, shoots until the clip is empty, changes it with a single move, keeps shooting, has to stop once the jetii advances and gets right in Jango’s sightline. Jango curses, moves with him, knowing he’s useless, that there’s nothing he can do, and hating that fact.</p><p>They move too fast. The jetii pushes in, the thing dodges, and the man vaults over the creature’s head, lands on his feet, light like a tooka, and twists to the right, ducks under the thing’s tail, and pushes in again, blue blade flashing and teeth bared.</p><p>He overextends—Jango knows it’s going to happen half a second before it actually happens, and he opens his mouth, a scream snarled in his throat, but by then it’s too late.</p><p>The jetii goes in, and he’s holding his lightsaber differently, and he’s moving differently as well, all sharp movements, his body closer to the ground—and for a beat it seems he’s going to win, but then—the thing moves, faster than thought, grabs him by the neck and throws him to the ground, follows him down, the rest of its limbs grabbing onto the man’s arms and legs.</p><p>It’s done—it’s over for him, Jango knows it, and the jetii knows it as well, because while he’s still struggling, trying to get the thing off of himself, there is acceptance on his bloodied face. He’s lost his lightsaber, and his empty hand clenches, his fingers twitching.</p><p>Jango should leave. The thing’s busy with the jetii—he should use the chance to get away. That’s what he wanted, after all—that’s what he’s wanted for fifteen years. All the Jedi dead. He doesn’t really care about the way that happens, if it’s at his eyayade’s hands or by some other means.</p><p>Jango’s sacrificed so much of what he once believed in, corrupted and perverted so much of himself—it should be easy to leave.</p><p>But it isn’t. And so he doesn’t.</p><p>The idea comes in a flash—Jango sees one of the egg clusters from the corner of his eye, and he switches on his flamethrower, and burns them all.</p><p>Whatever is inside screams, the sound high and painful, but Jango doesn’t stop, eyes fixed on the creature, teeth bared under his buy’ce.</p><p>“Come on, then,” he tells it in Mando’a, “you shabla monster.”</p><p>The thing lets go of the jetii, gets ready to jump, mouth open and full of needle-like teeth, and Jango lets the flame sputter off and takes out one of his vibroknifes, lowering his center of gravity.</p><p>He doesn’t see what is it the jetii does—the thing is there, and then it isn’t anymore: it flies off, hits one of the walls, crashes through it and disappears.</p><p>Jango turns back to the jetii—the man’s already staring at him, eyes wide open and half-mad, his gasping breath loud, outstretched hand trembling.</p><p>“Fucking sithspit <em>hells</em>,” the jetii says, voice hoarse. He lets his hand drop. “<em>Fierfek</em>.”</p><p>Jango snorts. He can’t help it—adrenaline has always left him jittery. He approaches the jetii, finds the jetii’s sword halfway through and grabs it off the floor without thinking, the thing warm even through the wet and cold fabric of Jango’s glove.</p><p>“Let’s get the kark out of here,” Jango says. He offers his weapon back to the jetii, and the man glances at him and away before grabbing it from Jango’s hand.</p><p>“Thank you,” the jetii says. He makes it disappear inside his jacket, and breathes in and out, visibly calming himself.</p><p>Jango tilts his <em>buy’ce</em>.</p><p>“You can’t stand up, right.”</p><p>The man scoffs. He rubs his face, grimaces when he touches his still broken nose, and then he smiles. It’d be charming if not for the blood and the bruises and the mud.</p><p>“Of course I can,” he lies. Jango rolls his eyes and, after half a second of doubt, he offers the jetii his hand.</p><p>The man blinks up at him, clearly surprised, and then he grabs Jango’s arm, and lets Jango help him up.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the warning: the monster. the warning is about the monster. so uhhh cw: horror. if you're sensitive to horror tread carefully, please. </p><p> </p><p>jango: you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up<br/>obi-wan: you want to fuck me so hard it makes you look stupid</p><p>see you on monday :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Long Way Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warnings in the end notes!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The creature hunts them.</p>
<p>Sometimes, Obi-Wan thinks he can feel it in the Force—a distant echo, a certain kind of cold-blooded attention. Its emotions and thoughts are too well-hidden, too alien for Obi-Wan.</p>
<p>So he keeps his attention on the fungi, and on Fett’s scanners. The bounty hunter keeps his distance, but he doesn’t stray from Obi-Wan’s side. Between the both of them, they remember pretty well the map they found in the old control room, and navigating the half-caved in galleries and hallways isn’t as hard as it could have been.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t know if Fett has changed his mind about Jedi—or if he’s just too tired and focused on getting out of the mines. Something tells Obi-Wan it’s the latter, but—Fett could have left him there, in the cavern. The Mandalorian thinks of himself as... honorable, or as something approaching that; but Obi-Wan knows that what the fact that he is a Jedi puts him beyond Fett’s mercy.</p>
<p>But Fett stayed. He could have left, but the man stayed, and saved his life.</p>
<p>It fits the things Obi-Wan has heard about the man that was once Mand’alor, but not the ice-cold bounty hunter he knows time and what Fett went through after that mess on Galidraan turned him into.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan tasted Fett’s hatred and felt the way his thoughts turned into a certain kind of cloying, crowing cruelty—it’s what woke him: the Force had blared, urgent, and then something else had hit him, harsh and unforgiving and so poisonous it made his head hurt.</p>
<p>But Fett helped him against the creature; he kept his peace while in the old control room; and now he’s walking by Obi-Wan’s side, tired but alert, his steps careful and remarkably quiet given his exhaustion and the forty something kilograms of armour and assorted weaponry Fett’s still carrying.</p>
<p>He has kept Obi-Wan’s blaster as well. Obi-Wan should ask to have it back, once they’re out of there, but—well. Fett will find it more useful than Obi-Wan ever has.</p>
<p>Fett trips in the darkness, and manages to right himself, cursing under his breath. Obi-Wan ignores the impulse to grab his arm and help him up, and focuses on everything else. The fungi are dim spots of brightness in his mind, their almost-thoughts slow and unhurried. Obi-Wan isn’t sure how they’re able to sense the creature, or how they know neither Fett or him mean them any harm, but they always do. The fungi are barely aware of them—their world is both vast and extremely small. There are things that are Danger, there are things that are Them, and there are things that aren’t at all.</p>
<p>Apparently, Fett and Obi-Wan belong to the last group.</p>
<p>Everything hurts. Obi-Wan’s sure one of his ribs is cracked, and when the creature grabbed him its claws punctured the skin, the wounds deep enough they’ve been bleeding on and off for the past minutes—he’s going to leave Tchuta-1 with a new set of shiny scars, as if Obi-Wan wasn’t already more scar tissue than man. His head hurts, thirst and hunger and all the times he’s been hit or thrown against things in the past few hours just make it worse.</p>
<p>“Jetii,” Fett says suddenly. Obi-Wan stops, reaches out with his mind, and the Force answers his call, the connection sluggish but stable.</p>
<p>“Ceiling again,” Obi-Wan says, curt.</p>
<p>“Shabla thing’s stalking us,” Fett replies. His voice sounds... wrecked. He feels like a live wire, tense and too hot to touch. A headache-inducing mix of anxiety, frustration and exhaustion reaches Obi-Wan.</p>
<p>“You did burn its unborn children to death,” Obi-Wan says mildly.</p>
<p>“Should have let it eat your face instead.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan snorts. He touches Fett’s shoulder without thinking, and the man twitches, moves away a step, freezes.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Obi-Wan replies. He finds what he’s looking for: a crevice in the gallery’s wall—air’s coming from the other side. Obi-Wan points at it, and Fett nods, begins the arduous work of stuffing all his bulk through the crack. “But I’d say my face looks better this way.”</p>
<p>Fett waits until he is on the other side before answering.</p>
<p>“Not with your nose looking like it does, it doesn’t,” he says, his voice bone dry.</p>
<p>It’s a tighter fit than he thought. Obi-Wan’s slimmer than Fett, but he’s taller, and it takes him longer than he’d like to pass through—he feels the closest fungi flicker up in alarm and then just disappear.</p>
<p>“Thank you for that, by the way,” Obi-Wan says when he’s finally through. Fett doesn’t react, stock still, but Obi-Wan can feel him mocking him—it’s not even the Force, it’s all in the way he seems to stare at Obi-Wan through what he can see of his helmet. The glowstick’s light is weak but more than enough for that.</p>
<p>“Let’s go,” Fett says instead. He begins to walk again, his steps long and heavy. He’s limping slightly—he’s not the only one—Obi-Wan’s sprained ankle hates him quite a lot by now. He sighs and tries and fails not to think about how he’ll explain himself to the Healers when they get back to the Temple, if they ever do.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“The thing’s still following us,” Fett says after a while. The way’s suddenly much steeper, and they’re almost crawling, the mud and water freezing. Obi-Wan has his ‘saber out once again—he lost Fett’s glow stick some time before, left behind somewhere when they had to hurry to avoid the creature.</p>
<p>“I know,” Obi-Wan says. He doesn’t turn to look at Fett, a few meters behind him—he’s too tired to divide his attention. He can hear the other man’s rattling breathe through his helmet speakers.</p>
<p>The mud sucks at him, at them, and sometimes the ceiling’s so low they need to crawl. It’s easier for Obi-Wan—Fett’s armour is beginning to become a liability. The Mandalorian’s strong, and he’s used to dealing with its weight—but they’re exhausted.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan has no idea of how Fett can still move.</p>
<p>“I think we are close,” Obi-Wan says. His mouth tastes of wet dirt and the chemical pang of unrefined rhydonium, and he’s freezing cold.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan stands up with a grunt and a curse and turns around to help Fett, up, the gesture unthinking—the bounty hunter ignores him and heaves himself to his feet. His shields still hold, if just barely—he is so exhausted Obi-Wan doubts he even saw his outstretched hand.</p>
<p>For a beat they just stay there—they just breath. Obi-Wan leans on one of the walls and closes his eyes, forces himself to open them again when he feels sleep trying to drag him down.</p>
<p>“We <em>are</em> close,” Fett says suddenly. He’s standing alone in the middle of the hallway, head tilted—Fett looks like he could keep going till the end of the world, and then a little further.</p>
<p>“I sure hope so,” Obi-Wan says. He clears his throat. He hears Fett snort. “How do you know?”</p>
<p>Fett doesn’t explain—he merely taps his helmet with one gloved hand.</p>
<p>“Oh, so that’s why you mandos wear those things,” Obi-Wan says. “And here I thought it was just for headbutting people.”</p>
<p>Fett begins to walk once again, and Obi-Wan makes himself follow, his ‘saber so low that the blade makes the mud sizzle.</p>
<p>“So you’re still going about that,” Fett says. He has a nice voice, when he isn’t using it to curse you out in Mando’a. “It cannot be the first time you’ve had your nose broken.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that that was the kind of thing one gets used to.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t know.”</p>
<p>It takes Obi-Wan longer than it should to understand.</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck off.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They were able to cram themselves into another crack in the wall in the last moment—Obi-Wan can hear the creature pacing up and down the gallery like it knows they are there. It hisses and clicks, its mandibles shining black and wet in the weak light that comes from somewhere up ahead.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan is pressed against Fett hip to shoulder, the other man’s helmet digging into the tender and already bruised meat of his arm. He can touch the wet and cold fabric of the Mandalorian’s flight suit with the back of his hand—he can feel him shivering. Obi-Wan holds his ‘saber in his other hand, the grip slick with his own sweat and the black mud that seeps from the walls. It has found its way under Obi-Wan clothes, inside his mouth, under his tongue, and every time he breathes its stink fills his brain.</p>
<p>The creature won’t leave. It walks the length of the hallway, up and down, up and down, its long tail slithering behind it, its many limbs shining blackly in the grey darkness. It’s like it knows they’re almost out of the mines and it refuses to let them go—Obi-Wan watches it move, and his eyes keep straying to the white scars he knows he left with his ‘saber. They drip sometimes, the liquid so clear it looks like water, and when they touch the mud they sizzle. The smell makes tears appear in his eyes.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan remembers the eggs—so many things just like the one that haunts this particular gallery, sleeping but perfectly alive, waiting to be born. Impervious to blaster shots, capable of shielding themselves, strong and fast and agile, and clever.</p>
<p>If they ever found their way out of the mines, or if any enterprising mind ever found out about them—well. Obi-Wan hopes that never happens, at least while he is alive.</p>
<p>He can feel Fett clenching and unclenching his hand by his side, the Mandalorian’s gauntlet digging into the meat of his thigh. It hurts, but Obi-Wan keeps quiet.</p>
<p>But the creature won’t leave, and he’s tired, and he hurts, and every time Fett moves his hand, his gauntlet’s beskar plate brushes against one of Obi-wan’s wounds. He ends up grabbing Fett’s wrist, his cold fingers somehow finding their way under the seam between glove and flight suit. Fett stops, rigid, and Obi-Wan squeezes once, his fingertips tingling—how can Fett be so warm, after so long in the dark?—before letting go.</p>
<p>The man stops moving. Slowly, his shoulders loosen as well. Obi-Wan sighs, and finds himself relaxing as well—he hadn’t noticed the way the other man’s emotions had been influencing him.</p>
<p>And, after a while, the creature finally gives up. It screeches, so loud and so shrill Obi-Wan feels his ears pop, and then it leaves the hallway.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“If I never see a shabla mine again in my life, I’ll die a happy man,” Fett mutters under his breath.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan smiles in the darkness, too tired to laugh out loud, and he keeps walking, his ‘saber held aloft.</p>
<p>They are almost out—they have survived.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The sunlight is so sudden and so bright it immediately blinds him. Obi-Wan curses, turns away, trying to blink the bright spots from his eyes, and he hears Fett say something under his breath, and then step forward.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan switches off his lightsaber. He tries to open his eyes again, but it’s too bright—he winces and lets them fall closed.</p>
<p>He listens to Fett taking off his helmet and breathing in deeply. Afterwards the man approaches him.</p>
<p>“Jetii,” Fett begins, his voice weirdly hesitating. Obi-Wan feels Fett grabbing his hand, putting it on his own shoulder, “here. Just—just follow me.”</p>
<p>For a beat, Obi-Wan’s too shocked to know what to say. He grips the beskar under his hand, and breathes in the clean, dry air of the outside world. He can almost feel the sun on his face.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Obi-Wan finally says. Fett grunts in reply. “My name’s Kenobi. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t ask,” Fett says.</p>
<p>“I know. I’m just tired of you calling me jetii.”</p>
<p>Fett snorts. They walk in silence for a while. It takes longer than he’d like, but finally his sight gets used to the bright sunlight, and he blinks the tears away. He lets go of Fett’s shoulder and takes a step forward—the ground keeps rising and the gallery is wide enough, its ceiling high enough, that they can walk side by side.</p>
<p>“There,” Fett says suddenly. He’s holding his helmet in his left hand, and his hair is a mess, the curls matted with mud and Force knows what—Obi-Wan would laugh if he didn’t know he probably looks even worse. He follows the Mandalorian’s finger to where it’s pointing, and squints.</p>
<p>There’s a patch of blue sky at the end of the hallway, peeking under the rock ceiling of the gallery.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s legs feel like they are made of lead, but he begins walking faster, Fett keeping pace by his side; and there it is—they’re out, finally, after what must have been almost a day: they are finally out of the mines.</p>
<p>They stay there for a while, just looking at the sky, the sun warm on their faces. Obi-Wan closes his eyes again, the thin skin of his eyelids tinted red, and breathes in the smell of dust, of green hardy things, of hot air and hotter rock. He reaches out with his mind, and prods at his bond with Anakin. His padawan answers him immediately, anxietyfearelationfearfrustrationfearboredom drowning the bond and filling Obi-Wan’s head.</p>
<p>He winces and opens his eyes again. Fett’s watching him from the corner of his eye. His face looks as blank and unreadable as always, but there’s curiosity and a kind of veiled and reluctant interest in the stare.</p>
<p>“My padawan,” Obi-Wan explains, after a beat. “He was worried and his emotions can be... overwhelming, sometimes.”</p>
<p>Fett raises a brow. He puts on his helmet, and then turns away, focuses his attention on the landscape in front of them.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan snorts. He wants to insist, to get a reaction out of Fett, but—well. They aren’t out of the woods yet. He turns to look at the landscape as well and frowns.</p>
<p>They’re standing on a ledge, a lip of rock that breaks off before a sheer, long fall, and surrounded by spindly, orange-white peaks dotted with dark green vegetation. Obi-Wan leans over to look: many meters underneath them there are the remains of what once must have been an elevator, and the ruins of a refining plant. A long, grey road, the tarmac cracked and missing in places, starts to his right and weaves between some of the peaks before disappearing.</p>
<p>Beyond the cliffs there’s a strange, black shadow, blurry with distance—with a jolt, Obi-Wan recognises it as one of the orbital cannons, and something cold and heavy sets in his stomach.</p>
<p>“Fierfek,” he curses under his breath. By his side, Fett tilts his head, but he keeps quiet. “Do you see any kind of—I don’t know. Vehicle? Something?”</p>
<p>“The town is that way,” Fett says. He nods to the road. “We’ll get there if we follow that road.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan frowns. The Mandalorian’s right—if he squints, Obi-Wan can see the settlement, the low pre-fab buildings fading into the dead fields, and the spaceport’s shiny metal roofs a bit further.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs, and rubs at his jaw. His stubble is more of a beard by now, and he feels disgusting.</p>
<p>“Well then,” Obi-Wan says. He looks at Fett, and then down, at the sheer fall that opens at their feet. “This would be so much easier if you had your jetpack.”</p>
<p>Fett turns his head, and for a beat he just stares at Obi-Wan, his silence tinged with something that feels half-way between fury and sheer incredulity.</p>
<p>“What?” Obi-Wan says, and—he knows he shouldn’t stop poking the bantha, but he’s tired and he hurts and Fett makes it oh-so-easy. “I’m right.”</p>
<p>“I’m beginning to understand why they want me to kill you,” Fett replies mildly.</p>
<p>“’They’? Who is this ‘they’?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Fett says. He turns back to the drop. “How do we do this?”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan scowls. “What do you mean, you don’t care?”</p>
<p>Fett ignores him. “I think I can reach that other ledge with what’s left of my grappling cord. It’ll hold your weight as well.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan looks down.</p>
<p>“I can get us down,” he says. He believes he’s not bluffing.</p>
<p>“What do y—oh <em>kark no</em>.”</p>
<p>“It will be easier than making do with whatever’s left of your grappling cord. Easier and faster.”</p>
<p>“That doesn’t mean I want to be... carried around like a sack of jogan,” Fett snaps at him.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks. He smirks, taps Fett’s pauldron, and moves away when the other man throws an elbow in his direction.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he says.</p>
<p>“Jetii— “</p>
<p>“I’ve told you my name’s Kenobi.”</p>
<p>“<em>Jetii</em>—“</p>
<p>“You know, it’s not very smart to antagonize the only person who can help you down from a very tall place without dying.”</p>
<p>“<em>Manda</em>. Will you just—shut up. Just for a second.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan raises his hands and takes a step back.</p>
<p>“Very well,” he says. Obi-Wan nods to the sky, to the sun, already closer to the horizon line than it was a few minutes ago. “But I’d suggest we continue this conversation on the way back to the settlement. We’re wasting daylight.”</p>
<p>He can’t see Fett’s face, but Obi-Wan would bet his own lightsaber the man’s scowling at him.</p>
<p>“Fine,” the Mandalorian finally says, clipped.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs, and then closes his eyes again. Fett approaches him, his steps slow and reluctant over the gravel and the dirt. Obi-Wan breathes in, breathes out, and reaches out for the Force, lets it strengthen his limbs. Anakin perks up on the other side of the bond, and Obi-Wan sends a wave of calm to him, and afterwards gently raises his shields.</p>
<p>“Come here, please,” Obi-Wan says. He blinks his eyes open, and waits patiently while Fett does.</p>
<p>“How do you... want to do this?” Fett sounds very uncomfortable. “Like before?”</p>
<p>“No. It’s too high.”</p>
<p>Fett’s sharp pang of apprehension mixed with shame threatens to break Obi-Wan’s concentration. He turns to Fett, and the bounty hunters sighs—he takes another step closer, until they are standing chest to chest, and then, very gingerly, puts his arms over Obi-Wan’s shoulders.</p>
<p>His flight suit stinks of mildew and mud, and the beskar is weirdly cold. Obi-Wan tries not to breathe in too deeply and moves his head so that his chin is not in the way of Fett’s helmet.</p>
<p>“I’m going to grab your waist,” he says. Fett snorts. Obi-Wan ignores him. “Please hold on tighter. And when I jump, it’ll be better if you try and move with me.”</p>
<p>Fett keeps quiet, but he gets even closer. The cool smooth surface of his helmet feels nice against the bruises on Obi-Wan’s face, and he has to force himself to focus.</p>
<p>Fett’s so tense the muscle between the plates feels made of beskar too.</p>
<p>“At the count of three?” Fett asks. They are so close Obi-Wan can hear the slight crackle of his helmet speakers.</p>
<p>“No,” he replies. His focus is wavering—concentrating is harder than it should. He’s tired and hungry and he hurts, and Fett’s too close and too uncomfortable, his emotions bleeding through his beskar and crashing against Obi-Wan’s shields.</p>
<p>The sooner they do this, the better.</p>
<p>He jumps. Fett gasps. His arms go bruisingly tight around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and he holds onto the Mandalorian, more instinct than anything, his attention elsewhere—his mind is on the thousands of times he’s done this, on his memories of the crèche, on his memories of Qui-Gon, his big hand warm on Obi-Wan’s back while he explained how to let your body forget its own weight, how to trust the Force and let go, on the afternoon he spent with Anakin jumping from one of the towers of the Coruscant Temple.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan bends his knees when his feet hit the ground, and he feels Fett trying to do the same. The man shudders. He breathes out, each exhalation too harsh and too noisy in the quiet that surrounds the old mining complex.</p>
<p>It takes him two, three long seconds until Fett manages to convince himself it’s safe to let go, and Obi-Wan keeps quiet, lets the Mandalorian get himself under control. He knows that it isn’t easy to trust someone else to not let you fall—he’s shocked Fett managed to. The man’s a very dangerous mix of stubborn and fearless, and Obi-Wan surprises himself by thinking that he really doesn’t want to go back to being enemies.</p>
<p>They aren’t friends, not by a long shot—probably they never will be. Whatever memories Fett carries with him are too heavy, too poisonous, to ever let him cross that bridge. But Obi-Wan’s found that he likes the other man as an ally, that he has begun to trust his quiet competence, his honesty—had things been very different he might even have appreciated his company.</p>
<p>But things are as they are. Obi-Wan makes himself let go, slightly shivery himself, and looks around. His head hurts, exhaustion and thirst and everything else, and he’s already sweating—he can smell himself as well as Fett, mud and blood and sweat, and some of his wounds are still bleeding sluggishly: they need water, some food, before they even think about finding their way back to the town.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the mining complex looks like it’s been abandoned for years, probably decades, maybe—if their bad luck holds—centuries. Obi-Wan rotates his right arm until he feels something pop and give in his back, and shifts his weight, trying to keep it off his sprained ankle. It hurts like hell, but so does everything else—he really doesn’t have the time or the mental energy to pay any attention to it.</p>
<p>“We should get out of the sun,” Obi-Wan says. “Or I should, at least.”</p>
<p>Fett nods, and when Obi-Wan begins walking toward the closest building he follow, his heavy boots crunching over the sand and the gravel.</p>
<p>The place is absolutely dismal. It looks like it’s been abandoned for years and years, the durasteel skeletons of the buildings rising black and bent towards the pale blue sky. It smells of unrefined rhydonium and dust, and the only noise is the screeching of the insects, loud and hoarse. There’s a big, fat fly-like thing that keeps trying to land on Obi-Wan’s broken nose.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan stops in the shadow of one of the closest building’s walls, and then drops down on the ground. The sand under him is cool, but the metal wall is warm. He leans his back on it anyway and sighs. He should look at his ankle, but for a beat he just breathes, in and out, feeling dizzy, weirdly out of breath.</p>
<p>He probably should be more worried about that than he actually is.</p>
<p>Fett just looks at him, helmet tilted and shining in the pale sun.</p>
<p>“What are you doing,” Fett says. It’s not actually a question.</p>
<p>“We need to rest and plan,” Obi-Wan replies, and it’s not a lie, exactly—he’s just leaving out the fact that he doesn’t sit down for a bit, he will very probably faint. He looks up at Fett, and finds the other man staring at him: Obi-Wan may not be able to see his face or his eyes through the cracked visor of Fett’s helmet, but he’s beginning to learn how to read his body language, how to read between the lines of his stillness.</p>
<p>Right now, Obi-Wan’s easy prey. Fett still has his gun and he’s tired enough that his connection to the Force feels frayed, thread-thin. If Fett attacks now, he won’t see it coming.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan watches Fett watching him, and he wonders: what will he do?</p>
<p>Fett tilts his head. He takes off his helmet, and blinks in the sunlight. His brown skin looks grey, and there is blood under his nose, high up on his forehead right under his hairline, in the corner of his mouth. He looks at Obi-Wan, and then at the complex at his back, and then he approaches Obi-Wan, drops to the ground next to him, close enough to touch.</p>
<p>“We need—water,” Fett says. His voice sounds wrecked. He clears his throat. “Food, too, but—well.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan snorts, winces, and then nods.</p>
<p>For a while they just stay there, sitting in the shade and sharing the silence. The fly keeps hovering, and Obi-Wan swats at it, manages to catch it in his left hand. When he opens his fist, the insect stays there, its wings shivering.</p>
<p>It’s pretty, in an insectoid, many-legged way. Its shiny carapace shimmers like an oil slick, and its many eyes are silver. It has a pretty impressive stinger close to the general area of its mouth, but Obi-Wan’s not worried—it doesn’t feel threatened. It won’t hurt him. He examines the insect while it roams around the palm of his hand and explores his fingers.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?” Fett’s voice catches him by surprise. Obi-Wan manages not to jump, but the insect feels the way his fingers twitch. It flies away.</p>
<p>It doesn’t come back.</p>
<p>“Just looking,” Obi-Wan says. He glances at Fett. The man’s staring at him, his face blank save for a slight frown. He seems puzzled. “What?”</p>
<p>“Nothing,” Fett replies. He sighs and rubs his face. He has taken off his gloves; they are lying on the ground between them.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“That didn’t look like nothing,” he says. Fett scowls and puts on his helmet.</p>
<p>“We should move. The sun’s going down.” He stands up, and then leans down again, grabs his gloves from the ground and sticks them under his belt.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan stands up as well, his mouth already full of words, and winces when he tries to put some weight on his bad ankle.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he grunts under his breath.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Karking ankle. Wait, I’ll just—“</p>
<p>He needs to—wrap it or something. Obi-Wan scowls. This is really blasted inconvenient. He sits down again, takes off his left boot. His ankle looks swollen and red and when he touches the skin it feels warm to the touch.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan glances at Fett. The man’s still there, watching him, his helmet tilted. He’s stock still, and he keeps on clenching and unclenching his left fist. He doesn’t have that many tells, but that is one—he must know about it, because when Fett sees Obi-Wan watching he stops.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks sweat from his eyes. He keeps them on Fett, perfectly aware of the way the Force has gone tense, shivery. It whispers, warns him of possible danger.</p>
<p>“You could leave,” Obi-Wan tells Fett. “Or you could try to kill me again. We are out of the mines. That was our agreement.”</p>
<p>Fett keeps quiet. He stays where he is, head tilted and hands turned into fists. Obi-Wan reaches out to Fett with Force, trying to read him—it’s as hard as always. Fett’s tired enough his shields are slipping, but Obi-Wan’s also exhausted, and the beskar of the bounty hunter’s armour is as effective as always.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan would say that Fett feels—conflicted. He’s angry, yes, and Obi-Wan can taste the familiar tang of Fett’s hatred on the back of his tongue, black and wet and bitter, but.</p>
<p>Fett feels as if he is arguing with himself—he doesn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>“You do owe me,” Obi-Wan says, because Fett <em>does</em> owe him, after all, and he has never learned to keep his mouth shut. “I could have left you up there.”</p>
<p>It’s like his words break the spell. Fett shakes his head, takes off his helmet again. His scowl is the blackest thing Obi-Wan has ever seen, and he’s spent the last few hours lost in a karking mine. He smiles anyway, relief and something dangerously close to relief hidden—badly, if he’s judging Fett’s demeanor right—behind the smirk.</p>
<p>“We’ll get back to the town,” Fett says, “and then we’re done.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan shrugs. He finishes rolling down his stained sock—Fett may be many things, most of them bad, but he isn’t a liar. Obi-Wan trusts him not to stab him in the back until they get back to the settlement.</p>
<p>“And by ‘done’ you mean ‘back to trying to kill each other,’” Obi-Wan says, just to be annoying. Fett grumbles something under his breath.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan hears him come closer, his steps loud in the quiet, and then Fett kneels by his side. He carefully places his helmet next to him on the ground, and then he moves Obi-Wan’s hands aside and cradles his ankle.</p>
<p>“This looks bad,” Fett says. His hands are surprisingly cool on Obi-Wan’s overheated skin, and he shivers.</p>
<p>Fett’s fingers and knuckles look very much like Obi-Wan’s—knobby, bent out of shape, broken too many times and healed wrong.</p>
<p>“Jetii. <em>Kenobi</em>,” Fett says. Obi-Wan blinks, looks up. “How long has this been like this?”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan shrugs. “Since we fell? It’s fine, it’s not broken.”</p>
<p>Fett shakes his head again, and prods carefully at Obi-Wan’s ankle, rotates it gently. Obi-Wan grits his teeth and does his best to keep the whine that wants to come out inside—when Fett lets go of his ankle, he can’t help the sigh.</p>
<p>Fett shakes his head again and begins rooting for something in one of his belt pouches.</p>
<p>“I’ve done harder things with broken limbs,” Obi-Wan insists.</p>
<p>Fett scoffs.</p>
<p>“Do you want a prize?” he drawls. He’s found a dirty rag somewhere, and he unsheathes his vibroknife, begins to tear it in long stripes. “Think this’ll be long enough?”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t look at it.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, and then, “I can do this myself.”</p>
<p>Fett stills. He looks up at Obi-Wan, and then away. He drops the rags on Obi-Wan's lap.</p>
<p>He grabs and puts his helmet back on before standing up and moving away.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>What the hell is he doing?</p>
<p>Jango waits while the jetii—Kenobi, his name is <em>Kenobi</em>—finishes wrapping up his sprained ankle, and then watches from the corner of his eye while the man struggles to his feet. Kenobi looks as pale as the ground they’re standing on, but that’s it. He moves as if he is more or less fine. It may be a Force thing—Jango knows that it makes people stronger, faster, more resilient, and it may help with broken limbs and sprained joints too—but something tells him Kenobi is just like that.</p>
<p>Jango should have killed him before. Killed him or just left him there. But no—he thought he owed the jetii something, and now he has to <em>walk</em> with the man back to the settlement.</p>
<p>“Do you think we may be able to find drinkable water around here?” Kenobi is saying. His ridiculous accent is sharper when he’s tired—he’s also more verbose, saying three words where one would do the job.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t even know what he hates more: the fact that he’s spent enough time with the jetii to know this, or that now he’ll have to deal with him for at least another four or five hours.</p>
<p>“Fett?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Water. Drinking water. Around here,” Kenobi says, insultingly slow. There is a condescending half-smile on his face, but the skin around his eyes is tight with tension—he’s still in pain. The jetii jerks his chin at Jango. He’s still in the shade of the wall, half-leaning against it with his left hand. “Can’t you check with your helmet sensors?”</p>
<p>Jango closes his eyes. Breathes in, out, just once.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“That’s not what they’re for. Can’t you—find anything?”</p>
<p>“How?”</p>
<p>Jango just looks at him. The jetii blinks.</p>
<p>“Ah. The Force,” he says after a while. “No, I—“</p>
<p>He stops, tilts his head, and his face goes blank again. Jango crosses his arms and stares at him in silence. The jetii turns his head away, chin tilted up and eyes half-closed, like he’s just heard something in the wind.</p>
<p>“That building,” Kenobi says after a few seconds. He points to somewhere at Jango’s back. “We should avoid that one.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Kenobi shrugs.</p>
<p>“There’s something living there,” he says, and then he smirks, tired, the gesture more than half-instinct. “You don’t want to know.”</p>
<p>He isn’t wrong: Jango doesn’t want to know. Jango doesn’t care. Jango wants to go back to his son and salvage whatever’s left of Kawa’s dubious good faith.</p>
<p>Calanta told him he had a day—the day’s still not over. He might still be able to extract something out of them, even if that means telling them where to find the jetii’s kid.</p>
<p>Jango looks around himself, at the ruins of the mining complex. The jetii keeps staring at him, a small frown on his face. The skin around his broken nose is bruised, dark purple, and he looks pale under the freckles and the almost-beard and the sunburn, but Jango doesn’t doubt for a second that the man is still dangerous.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They get lucky.</p>
<p>One of the buildings in the south part of the complex must have once been a hangar or a garage, and it shows signs of more or less recent use. There is a beat-up, old-fashioned energy generator tucked into a corner, and a functioning water pump, and an old speeder bike. Its energy cell is almost empty, but it’ll get them out of the complex and half-way through the mountains, and that’s better than nothing.</p>
<p>Kenobi has found himself a long stick, and while Jango looks at the speeder he goes poking around the hangar, dripping cold water everywhere. They took turns drinking from an old tap—the water tasted of rhydonium and rust, but as far as Jango can tell it’s still drinkable. His mind already feels clearer, more alert, and he can tell it’s the same for the <em>jetii</em>.</p>
<p>He reappears again when Jango is finishing his half-assed repairs on the speeder—the thing’s almost a museum piece, but it’ll do—and when he looks up he sees that the jetii has a box tucked under his free arm.</p>
<p>Kenobi sits down on the floor with a grunt, close enough to touch, and places the box between them.</p>
<p>“Found this,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he’s almost out of breath. “First aid kit.”</p>
<p>Jango raises a brow under his helmet.</p>
<p>He listens while Kenobi pops the box open, and then to the sound of flimsiplast packages crinkling.</p>
<p>Jango closes the engine panel. He stands up again with a bitten down grunt, and turns around.</p>
<p>“You done?” he asks, impatient.</p>
<p>Kenobi has taken off his boot once again, and he’s rewrapping his sprained ankle with what seem to be actual bandages. Jango blinks and takes a step closer.</p>
<p>“Any luck?” he asks.</p>
<p>The jetii shrugs. “Some,” he replies. He flicks his right index finger; the box moves on its own towards Jango as if dragged by an invisible hand, and the screeching noise echoes in the hangar’s high ceilings.</p>
<p>Jango leans down and rummages between the packages. Everything seems at least a decade out of date, but he’s used enough too-old bacta patches to know the risk of an allergic reaction is pretty low.</p>
<p>He <em>is</em> hurt—he should do as the jetii is doing, and take care of some of his wounds. But that would mean taking off his beskar’gam, and there is no way in hell Jango is going to do that in front of Kenobi.</p>
<p>He will bear it. He knows he can—it wouldn’t be the first time.</p>
<p>The jetii keeps glancing at him. He seems calm, but by now Jango knows him well enough to know it’s a lie. Kenobi is clearly thinking along the same lines as Jango is—his mind is trying to choose between being practical and making himself vulnerable.</p>
<p>Finally, he sighs. The jetii takes off his leatheris jacket, places it carefully on the ground next to him, keeping his eyes low, apparently focused on the first aid kit, on the task at hand.</p>
<p>Jango watches him in silence.</p>
<p>There are two bacta infusers in the box. One of them moves on its own, hits the jetii on the palm of his right hand with a smack. He shakes it once, grimaces, shrugs. Jango frowns under his buy’ce—those are used usually on fractures and broken bones.</p>
<p>“I will keep one of these, if you don’t mind,” Kenobi says with a fake smile. He doesn’t wait for an answer. The smile fades, and his demeanor changes, his face tense with concentration. He is touching down his side, his right hand careful over his ribs.</p>
<p>Jango blinks. He knew jetii were not normal, that Kenobi specifically was something else—but <em>knowing </em>something and having to deal with the fact that the shabuir has been <em>fighting </em>and <em>walking </em>and <em>jumping around</em> with a karking <em>broken rib</em> are two very different things.</p>
<p>Kenobi lifts his red shirt. The fabric is faded in places, full of tears and holes, and still wet. It clings to his shoulders and to the skin of his stomach, and he scowls, curses under his breath. Jango sees a sliver of skin, pale and badly bruised under the dirt, and scars, so many scars, and perhaps he should offer him his help—but no. If Kenobi wants it, Jango will think about it, but he’s done enough. Jango turns his back on the jetii and approaches the speeder.</p>
<p>Jango mounts the vehicle, switches it on. The thing comes to life with a groan and a screech so loud it makes the jetii jump and then snort.</p>
<p>“I’ll drive,” Jango says. “Hurry. We are running out of light.”</p>
<p>Kenobi rolls his eyes. He injects himself with the bacta infusion, and then lets the plastic piece clatter to the ground. He grabs a couple packets of bacta patches and bandages and sticks them in his pockets, and then puts his leatheris jacket back on.</p>
<p>He sits behind Jango, and for a few seconds, he and the jetii fumble on top of the bike: Kenobi clearly doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and Jango catches himself trying to make himself smaller, without success.</p>
<p>“Hold on,” Jango says, and revs the speeder. Kenobi’s arms come around his waist, bruisingly tight despite his beskar, and Jango hears him mutter a curse under his breath.</p>
<p>Jango smiles and then points the speeder in the direction of the road.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The rocky needles hide the sky and the pale asteroid field that surrounds the moon and turn the night into something made of nameless noises and velvety darkness.</p>
<p>The road is in half-broken, the tarmac missing in places. Here and there lie old trees and big boulders, the result of old rock slides. When it was lighter out, it made navigating through the mountains difficult—now that night’s fallen, it’s almost impossible.</p>
<p>When the speeder breaks down they are almost out of the sierra, closer to one of the orbital cannons, its darker shadow half-seen in the gaps between the peaks. The temperature has dropped, and the night is quiet—the only thing Jango can hear is the rattle of the speeder’s engine and the whistling of the wind against the mountains. The jetii’s kept quiet for once, and Jango has gotten used to his weight and his warmth at his back, to the feeling of his pale hands resting against his stomach, to the pressure of Kenobi’s thighs against his own.</p>
<p>They leave the speeder where it stops. Both of them try to make it start again, without success, and finally they give up and decide to continue on foot, despite Kenobi’s sprained ankle. The man grabs his sword, switches it on, and on they go, its cold blue blade lighting the way.</p>
<p>Jango keeps at the man’s back. He’s limping, but that’s it. If Jango had not seen him treating his broken? cracked? rib he wouldn’t have known about it.</p>
<p>The jetii man begins talking again. Half the time it feels like he is talking at Jango about everything that catches his attention—the weirdly shaped sierra, the way the air smells, the chittering flying things they sometimes see flitting between the weeds and the low trees—trying to engage him without much hope for success; but other times it’s obvious he’s trying to get a rise out of Jango.</p>
<p>Jango ignores him: he’s way too tired to pay attention to anything that’s not his aching feet.</p>
<p>The road narrows, becomes even harder to navigate, and they are too tired. Kenobi raises his weapon higher over his head, trying to find a way through the boulders and tree trunks, but after a while he gives up with a curse.</p>
<p>He turns to look at Jango, his face ghostly pale.</p>
<p>“We should stop. Wait until morning,” he says. His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat once, twice, without success.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t answer. He drops to the ground, leans his back against a big rock. It’s been more than a day since the last time he slept, and his head hurts, and he finds it hard to focus his eyes.</p>
<p>He clenches his fists. He’s so tired he doesn’t dare blinking—he’s sure he’ll fall asleep. And he cannot afford that. He watches Kenobi take a seat on the ground in front of him, his bad leg outstretched in front of him. The jetii leans against another rock and then exhales, closes his eyes, his face blank—he grimaces, opens his eyes again.</p>
<p>He might be—connecting, or whatever he does, with the boy. With his apprentice. Jango thinks of Boba, alone in that room. He doesn’t think Eul’alia will harm him, but that doesn’t mean Jango trusts her—and Boba might <em>like </em>her but he won’t trust her either.</p>
<p>Jango’s been trying not to think too hard about his son. If he does, if he allows his mind to drift back to Boba, to the room where he’s had to leave him, Jango knows it will break him: it’s eating him up inside. The guilt, the shame, the rage—those feelings are not productive, not useful; not now. They compromise his ability to focus on the job at hand, on the man that’s sitting in front of him, and he won’t allow that to happen.</p>
<p>But now—now he doesn’t have anything else to do but think. And he’s too tired to wrestle his thoughts back on track. Jango takes off his buy’ce, rubs at his face. He’s so hungry the feeling has mostly faded into nothing, and he’s feeling dizzy, almost faint, with thirst and exhaustion.</p>
<p>It will show on his face, along with the blood, with the bruises. He doesn’t want his son to see him like this. The few jobs he’s gone on the past year and a half have been easy, boring things. Boba has seen him tired, has seen him bruised—but not out of his mind with hunger, with pain or exhaustion.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t really want him to. Ever.</p>
<p>Jango jumps. He hears a rustling noise, and blinks himself awake, furious with himself—he hadn’t even noticed he was falling asleep. The jetii pauses. He is kneeling on the ground. He looks up at Jango and frowns. He’s got his sword in his right hand, the blade still shining blue. There is a small heap of branches, small pieces of wood and dry grass in front of him.</p>
<p>The bounty hunter blinks; it takes him longer than it should to understand what the other man is doing, but once he does, he can’t find it in himself to say anything at all. He watches while Kenobi does something with his blade. The wood begins to smoke, the smell of burning branches half-drowning the stink of ozone that Jango’s come to associate with Kenobi despite himself.</p>
<p>“It’s cold,” the jetii explains needlessly. Jango stares at him—he’s shivering. He switches off his weapon and fiddles with the wood until the flame grows. Jango tries to keep his face blank and his thoughts muted and quiet, but he’s too tired to do it well</p>
<p>Something must reach the jetii, because the man snorts. “It’s not my first time sleeping outside. I learned how to light a fire with—well, whatever, when I was younger than my apprentice.”</p>
<p>The man trails off. He frowns, his eyes low. Jango doesn’t say anything. He lowers his gaze as well, and thinks about the boy. The apprentice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jango doesn’t remember if there were any jetii apprentices on Galidraan. He doesn’t think so. But then again—it was so long ago. And Jango was so young. And—he’s found that he’s missing pieces, that he can’t remember everything he knows must have happened. He’s tried to, but it’s like his brain is full of holes, of gaps where memories should be. Some things are very clear—the taste of his verde’s blood, of his own, of Galidraan’s black wet mud—but others are just gone.</p>
<p>Jango is not an idiot. He knows about trauma. He knows that what happened fifteen years ago changed him forever, and that whoever he was then died along with his friends, his people.</p>
<p>He hasn’t made his peace with it—he never will, he thinks, <em>he</em> <em>won’t let himself</em>—but he’s learned to live with it.</p>
<p>But suddenly it’s very important, the fact that he can’t seem to remember if there were any teenage Jedi apprentices on Galidraan.</p>
<p>Jango blinks. He wants to move. He is falling asleep, his mind is dragging him down to places where he doesn’t want to go. He grabs his buy’ce with cold fingers, attempts to put it on, to stand up again—the world sways, and he blinks, blacks out.</p>
<p>He hears a muttered curse, and then the sound of footsteps over dry sand. He tenses up, ready to strike, but Kenobi doesn’t move closer.</p>
<p>“Fett,” he is saying, “what are you doing?”</p>
<p>Jango shakes his head. He needs to move. He can’t fall asleep.</p>
<p>“Fett—“</p>
<p>Jango manages to heave himself to his feet, and locks his knees. He won’t fall down. He won’t fall asleep. He will wait until morning comes and then he’ll go to his son and he will get them back to Kamino. He should have stayed there—he should have left Boba home. But he didn’t want him with his eyayade, with their dark eyes and dark hair and round, trusting faces.</p>
<p>The first batches are beginning their training in earnest—they are not his children, but they look like Boba will in a few years, and. Jango is finding that harder than he thought he would. They are not his sons, they can’t be, he thought they wouldn’t be human enough for them to matter, but they look like Boba, and Jango wanted to remind himself of the fact that Boba won’t be like them, and so he took his boy with him when he left.</p>
<p>This is all his fault.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He sleeps. It’s not for long—when he opens his eyes, the sky is still dark, and Kenobi is kneeling on the other side of the fire, his eyes closed and his breathing calm.Jango is leaning on something smooth and slightly sticky that smells of blood and ozone.</p>
<p>It’s cold, but the man’s not wearing his jacket. Jango stares at him for a few minutes, still half-asleep, until he understands what he is seeing, and then he moves, sits up, rubs his face.</p>
<p>“You slept for almost an hour,” Kenobi says, his voice mild. “Good job.”</p>
<p>Jango scowls. He doesn’t say anything while the man sighs, stretches his arms over his head with a wince, and then changes positions. He calls his jacket to himself with a flick of his fingers, and then puts it on once again.</p>
<p>“Two hours or so until sunrise,” Kenobi says. “Not that you’ve asked.”</p>
<p>The Mandalorian doesn’t answer. He feels better, more centered, but he knows that the feeling won’t last—a short nap won’t fix so many sleepless nights. He glances at Kenobi; the man’s watching him with an unreadable expression on his face, but Jango thinks he can feel Kenobi’s interest, the weight of his attention, the way that quicksilver brain of his is poking at something.</p>
<p>Jango remembers the way Kenobi looked at the fungi, his patient regard while the insect explored his hand, and he has to fight to not give in to the temptation to put his buy’ce back on—sometimes the harder you try to hide something, the more of that thing you reveal.</p>
<p>He can’t afford to make that kind of mistake with Kenobi. He’s—he’s dangerous. He is clever and he is strong and ruthless and fearless and kind.</p>
<p>He is dangerous.</p>
<p>“I could help you,” the jetii says. Jango frowns, caught by surprise. “With the boy—your son, right?”</p>
<p>“Leave my son alone,” Jango replies. “Don’t even—“</p>
<p>“I could get him out of there,” Kenobi ignores him. He keeps talking, his blue eyes almost black in the darkness, the light of the flames reflecting on his lightsaber hilt. He cocks his head, and suddenly he looks both younger and more dangerous at the same time, his curiosity something sharp and genuine and barely restrained. “I wasn’t sure he was your child. I thought Jango Fett didn’t have a child.”</p>
<p>His words are both a trap and an apology, and Jango has never been good at this, at talking around things, so he does what he always does: he shuts up, closes his mouth.</p>
<p>Kenobi doesn’t actually need him to, however—he keeps talking, his tone careful, measured, and Jango suddenly understands the reason behind all of his words.</p>
<p>Or at least one of them. Kenobi may be young, less experienced than Jango, but he’s clever. Something tells Jango that there are always plans within his plans, that he never does anything for just one reason.</p>
<p>“I’ve been to Kawa’s complex,” Kenobi says. Jango doesn’t know why he is so surprised—of course the jetii managed to sneak in somehow. “I saw him, and. Well. It both answered some questions and created new ones.”</p>
<p>“Kenobi,” Jango says.“Shut up.”</p>
<p>The jetii stops talking. Jango feels very cold inside. The other man frowns, and Jango sees the fingers of his right hand twitch once, approach his lightsaber.</p>
<p>“I can help you. I want to,” Kenobi insists. “Just keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>Jango stares at him. He knows his face is blank.</p>
<p>“I don’t need your help,” he says. “I don’t want it.”</p>
<p>Kenobi scowls, impatient. “You might not want it, but I would say that you do need it. That woman—the one from the bar. That woman’s a darksider.”</p>
<p>“Whatever she is doing here. Whatever she’s promised you. Whoever she is or says she is. You can’t trust her to keep her word or not stab you in the back or not sell you to the highest bidder.”</p>
<p>“You aren’t telling me anything I don’t know,” Jango replies mildly.</p>
<p>Kenobi scoffs. He sounds frustrated. He opens his mouth again, but for once, Jango is faster.</p>
<p>“I won’t work with you,” Jango tells him. “I don’t need your help. By this hour tomorrow night me and my son will be out of this place and you will be dead.”</p>
<p>For a beat, Kenobi just stares at him. He looks younger, more vulnerable. Not scared, but—hurt.</p>
<p>It lasts barely a second, though. Soon enough, so quick Jango is half-sure he imagined it, the man hides that second of weakness behind the condescending half-smile Jango has grown familiar with through the past day.</p>
<p>“No. You won’t,” he replies.</p>
<p>And then Kenobi closes his eyes, and his face smoothes out once again, and it’s like he’s gone, his body present and aware but his mind very far away.</p>
<p>Jango finds himself staring at the jetii, at his bruised face and his newly crooked nose. He looks away.</p>
<p>He feels all tangled up inside, guilt and the ever-familiar fury fighting in his chest. He leans one the boulder at his back, and something pokes him in the thigh—Kenobi’s blaster. He still has it—Jango’s pretty sure the jetii has completely forgotten about the weapon.</p>
<p>He <em>is</em> arrogant—but Jango’s seen him fight. Kenobi’s almost as good as he thinks he is.</p>
<p>Jango looks up to the little of the sky that can be seen between the peaks—he thinks it looks lighter. He still has his gun cleaning kit with him, so he takes it out of one of his belt pouches and gets to work.</p>
<p>He will have to give it back soon—he might as well make sure it’s in a better state than when he borrowed it.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s ankle burns with white fire by the time they approach the town from the north. At their back loom the shadows of the mountains, and beyond that, the black silhouette of the orbital cannons, darker against the still dark blue sky. The sun is almost out and the asteroid field shines dimly silver over their heads.</p>
<p>He senses Anakin before he sees him, and he knows it’s the same for his padawan. The boy feels tired, anxious, but both emotions are drowned by the overwhelming feeling of relief, of pure, unadulterated joy, that floods their bond.</p>
<p>Fett is a black hole by his side. The man’s been quiet for the past few hours—quieter, that is. There is something sharp-edged and dangerous about his silence that Obi-Wan doesn’t so much fear as respect: the beskar helmet muffles whatever Fett’s feeling, but not completely, and he’s too tired to shield well. The muted waves of fearanxietyshameguiltfuryhate have been hitting Obi-Wan’s own shields, filling his mouth with the already familiar taste of blood and mud.</p>
<p>Each Force user is different. The Force talks to each and all of them in different ways. Master Windu just knows things; Qui-Gon had flashes of insight, that he visualized in his mind’s eye as if they were holoimages; Obi-Wan knows that the Force <em>sings </em>to his padawan, has felt the way everything <em>talks</em> to him, yells and competes for his attention.</p>
<p>For Obi-Wan it’s always been linked to his sense of taste, of smell—and as far as he knows, it’s also absolutely subjective: it depends on the person, on context and circumstances, on so many things. He knows that Fett connects all those feelings to the taste of mud—dense and brackish in the back of his mouth—but Obi-Wan doesn’t know <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>And a part of him—that side of Obi-Wan who always has wanted to know how things work, how people work, <em>why</em> they work—can’t help but wonder. He can’t help but wonder what’s going on under Fett’s helmet, under his suit of armour and the blank face and the flat stare that the man uses as a shield, that hides and obfuscates as effectively as another plate of beskar.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan wants to get to know him—and that’s something he cannot afford: the man’s dangerous. Fett is hiding something, and he hates the Jedi Order, and if he thinks it will save his son, he’ll sell Anakin without a second of doubt.</p>
<p>But he is also—he can be kind. He loves his kid. Obi-Wan remembers him back in the mining complex, the way Fett had begun to wrap his ankle without thinking twice about it, and he saved his life, back in the cavern, and it shouldn’t be so surprising, it shouldn’t have hit him so hard, but it has: there might be a good man under the armour and the secrets and the hate and the violence.</p>
<p>Or maybe Obi-Wan’s wrong, and there is nothing under the beskar but more violence.</p>
<p>But Obi-Wan would like to make sure first, just in case.</p>
<p>Anakin is waiting for them at the end of the road. He’s out in the open, and too close to the town. Obi-Wan frowns, looks at Fett and then back at his padawan, tries to walk faster and fails. The boy must sense some of his pain through the bond, because he sends back a sharp spike of alarm, and then the blue blade of his lightsaber stains the night.</p>
<p>“Stay away from him,” Anakin says, and he changes his grip on the hilt of his ‘saber, falls back into Ataru. He’s trying to sound older than he is, and failing—his voice breaks.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs, rubs his face, and opens his mouth to answer, but Fett’s faster. He stops walking and stays where he is.</p>
<p>“Calm down, kid,” Fett calls, his voice hoarse. “I’m not going to do anything.”</p>
<p>“You’ve already done enough,” Anakin replies, his voice full of venom. It can’t quite hide the fear. “Stay back.”</p>
<p>“Anakin—“ the boy turns to look at Obi-Wan, and he sighs, raising his hands. “Ani. I’m—I’m fine.”</p>
<p>Anakin doesn’t move. Fett grumbles, and Obi-Wan turns to look at him, suddenly worried.</p>
<p>Fett tilts his helmet. After a beat, he takes it off, places it in the crook of his left arm. He blinks in the sunlight, and Anakin lowers his lightsaber.</p>
<p>With a last look in Fett’s direction, Obi-Wan begins limping towards his padawan, and Anakin switches off his weapon, hangs it from his belt, and closes the distance between them.</p>
<p>The hug catches Obi-Wan by surprise, even if it really shouldn’t. Anakin puts his arms around him, trying not to squeeze too hard and failing, and Obi-Wan sighs, trying not to wince or lean on his padawan—he also fails.</p>
<p>Anakin takes his weight easily. He’s shuddering, and he’s hidden his face on Obi-Wan’s shoulder: he’s trying not to cry.</p>
<p>“Anakin. Hey—it’s okay. I’m fine.” Obi-Wan cradles the boy’s head carefully, gets his other arm around his thin back, places his palm between Anakin’s shoulder blades. “I told you I’d come back. Didn’t I?”</p>
<p>Anakin nods, but he doesn’t move—he stays where he is, his face hidden in Obi-Wan’s shoulder, holding him up and at the same time trying to crawl into him. Obi-Wan sighs and relaxes in his padawan’s hold, allows himself to close his eyes for just a second, to breathe Anakin in.</p>
<p>He made it—he’s alive. Whatever happens now, he’ll be there to make sure Anakin makes it back to Coruscant: he hasn’t failed the Council or Qui-Gon.</p>
<p>He hasn’t failed Anakin.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan hears the sound of Fett’s boots over the dirt road, and he looks at the man over his padawan’s shoulder. The bounty hunter is staring at them, his face unreadable.</p>
<p>Fett nods just once, and it’s like the first time they saw each other, a week and a lifetime ago.</p>
<p>The Mandalorian taps the fingers of his right hand once, twice, against the butt of his borrowed blaster, and Obi-Wan blinks, remembers its absence for the first time in hours—he nods, half-smiles, tries to shrug as well as he can.</p>
<p>Keep it, he’s telling Fett. You might as well.</p>
<p>The man looks away, his mouth tight—for a second he looks almost guilty.</p>
<p>He puts on his helmet and turns his back on them, on Obi-Wan, and then he begins walking, leaving them behind.</p>
<p>He doesn’t look back.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>the monster tm appears for the last time! also, if you're claustrophobic or claustrophobic-adjacent, tread carefully: the first half of the fic takes place in the mines (i don't think it's too extreme or too graphic, but better safe than sorry).</p>
<p>jango: feels one (1) thing that's not overwhelming rage<br/>jango: oof i'm not dealing with that lol</p>
<p>see you on thursday :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Lie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uh oh</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(look at the end notes for warnings)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The walk back to the complex takes forever. Jango forces himself to put one foot behind the other, the sun beating down on his beskar’gam and making the air around him shiver and dance. The sky is pale blue, the asteroid belt over his head almost the same yellowish white of the dirt under his feet, and he can barely hear himself think over the sound of the insects singing all around him.</p>
<p>When Jango leaves the jetiise behind, the kid is still holding Kenobi. He’s almost as tall as Kenobi but he’s still a child, barely in his teens. He’ll be dangerous soon—Jango could see it in the way he held his sword, in the watchful way the boy eyed him, his dark eyes full of fear but still clever and quick.</p>
<p>But he isn’t yet—he¡s just a kid. A boy. An ad, like Jango’s son, if slightly taller and from what he saw in the shuttle, with a penchant for mechanics and making a mess.</p>
<p>Jango already knows he’ll give him up if that’s what it takes to free Boba—and so does Kenobi. He’ll be able to take the necessary steps to keep his apprentice out of danger. This knowledge makes Jango’s guilt bearable, but it doesn’t actually make the guilt fade away.</p>
<p>The fact that he feels guilty at all surprises Jango. Separating who he is from the things he does while on a job has always been easy. Maybe it’s because this isn’t actually a job—maybe it’s because he’s self-aware enough to be able to admit the fact that Kenobi’s worry and care for his apprentice are familiar. Maybe Jango’s just growing old, and soft—maybe he should just retire. It’s not as if he needs the credits anymore—the Kamino job has made him richer than most crime lords will ever be. If he wanted, Jango could buy a moon just like this one, and move there with his son, and build a farm, and spend his remaining years growing things instead of killing them.</p>
<p>As soon as that thought appears, however, Jango’s mind skitters from the idea—he doubts he will make it that long. He knows too much—Tyrannus will have him killed as soon as he stops being useful.</p>
<p>This is something Jango has known from the beginning. He knew, when he signed the contract, that he was also signing his own death sentence. Back then, he didn’t care that much about any of it: not about dying, or about the future, or even about the idea of Boba—and back then, his son was just that, an idea, a way to leave a legacy, to keep Jaster’s alive.</p>
<p>It didn’t occur to Jangothat Boba would also be a person—that he would be Jango’s son. And then Jango saw him, tiny and ugly and perfect, and Jango has had five years to plan and reconsider, but he still hasn’t found a way to turn the future into a place where he can live with his son.</p>
<p>Maybe there isn’t one. And if there is, Jango probably doesn’t deserve it. And as long as Boba is fine and well and safe and happy and healthy, he finds he’s fine with that.</p>
<p>The guards from Kawa’s complex see him coming and move aside to let him pass. He must look like a nightmare—dirty with mud and old blood and dust, stinking to hell and back of sweat and mold and the insides of the mine. Jango’s barely aware of them, but he listens to them talk and whisper among themselves, and he pauses, looks at them over the shoulder.</p>
<p>His eyes can’t really focus on what he’s seeing, but the mere motion is more than enough—the whispers stop.</p>
<p>Jango keeps walking. He sees the building where he sleeps, and he thinks of his little bed, of the sink, but he doesn’t stop. This is more important—and he knows that if he sits down somewhere, he will fall asleep and not wake up in many hours.</p>
<p>Calanta told him that, if he found the boy, Kawa would maybe let them go—Jango has done his job: and now it’s time to collect.</p>
<p>It’s early morning. The main room of the farm is crowded and full of sunlight. Kawa’s sitting at the head of the long table that presides the room, talking quietly with one of her guards, her face pale and tired and the skin around her horns puffy and irritated. Calanta is leaning against the wall next to the place’s only window, and when Jango steps through the door, the woman’s already looking towards him, her face blank. There are half a dozen of Kawa’s thugs sitting around the table in mismatched chairs, drinking caf and eating ration packs from a crate that’s half-full. Their smell wafts through Jango’s buy’ce’s filters, and he has to clench his jaw so that he doesn’t puke all over himself.</p>
<p>He’s so hungry—he has been hungrier, he knows he’s gone longer without food, but right now he can’t remember ever being this starving. His stomach feels like it’s made of tin—he blinks, trying to make the dizziness disappear.</p>
<p>Jango pauses in front of the door, and suddenly the only thing that can be heard in the room is the sound of the metal plates of his beskar’gam, the thud of his borrowed blaster against his hip, his own breathing, shallow and too fast, too loud inside his buy’ce.</p>
<p>Jango looks at Calanta, then at Kawa, at Calanta again. He keeps himself stock still. He’s not a man—he is a thing made of beskar and will. His muscles want to tremble and twitch, but he doesn’t let them—he doesn’t move.</p>
<p>The room empties. It happens in a blink—full room, and then suddenly the room’s empty. Like a magic trick.</p>
<p>“Fett,” Kawa says. She doesn’t stand up. She’s got her blaster in her right hand, the hand over the table. Her left hand is out of sight—Jango narrows his eyes. She looks like she’s grabbing something under the table. “I thought you had fucked off.”</p>
<p>Calanta just looks at him, her arms crossed. He can’t read her well, but he’d say she isn’t happy.</p>
<p>“We had an agreement,” Jango says. He sounds wrecked, he knows it does, but it just seems to make Kawa tense up further.</p>
<p>Good.</p>
<p>“I guess you could say that,” the Zabrak replies. She doesn’t look at the woman at her side. Calanta scowls.</p>
<p>She isn’t annoyed—she is <em>angry</em>. Not with him; with her.</p>
<p>“It has been more than a day, but I may be open to... reconsidering the terms of our agreement, yes.”</p>
<p>Kawa’s lying.</p>
<p>The jetii was right.</p>
<p>Jango stares at her, at Calanta, turns back to the Zabrak. She looks—unwell. Gaunt and too thin, her poison green eyes too bright. He hates her so much he can’t see straight.</p>
<p>“Did you find the boy, Fett?” Calanta asks him.</p>
<p>Jango lets the silence unspool, something heavy and cold in his chest that almost feels like desperation but isn’t.</p>
<p>It’s hopelessness.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>There’s no one guarding Boba’s door, but when Jango tries the lock the thing won’t open. Jango tries again, and again, and the light in the control panel blinks red and red and red, and he doesn’t understand.</p>
<p>He has Kenobi’s blaster in his right hand when the door finally opens on its own, and Jango blinks, looks up and finds Eul’alia’s wide eyes. She’s staring at his gun, hands raised.</p>
<p>“What—“ his voice cracks. Jango tries to finish the sentence, but he can’t find the words. “Where—?”</p>
<p>The Twi’lek slowly lowers her hands. Before she can move aside, Jango hears the patter of little feet, and Boba’s head pops up in the space that’s between the woman’s hip and the door.</p>
<p>“Bu?”</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t know how he gets from the hallway across the room and to the bed. Someone grabs his gun, puts it back in his holster—must be Eul’alia, but he blinks and finds he has missed the exact moment.</p>
<p>He knows he’s the one who takes off his own buy’ce, the one who crosses the threshold and closes the door at his back, his son in his arms, his face hidden in his shoulder despite the dirt and the smell, but he doesn’t actually feel it—he doesn’t actually think about doing it. It just happens: he’s there and then he isn’t, anymore.</p>
<p>Boba looks—tired. Pale and sickly still, and he is crying, his tears mostly silent. He grabs at Jango with all the strength his small arms are capable of, and Jango hugs him back, his back against the door and his vision blacking out. He thinks he sees Eul’alia moving around the room, that he watches her leave and close the door behind her, but he is too exhausted, too hurt, too—hopeless to do anything but hug his son back and close his eyes.</p>
<p>Boba keeps quiet. He doesn’t ask him where he was, doesn’t ask him why Jango looks like that, why he’s so tired, why he won’t say anything—Boba just holds Jango like he fears Jango will disappear if he looks away.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t even take off his boots. He lies down on the bed, his son between him and the wall, and falls asleep with the five year old still clutching at him, his dirty armour getting mud on the sheets.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jango sleeps the day away. He doesn’t wake up until it’s dark outside—he opens his eyes and finds himself still in Boba’s bed, his son awake but still by his side, playing with Jango’s buy’ce, the thing too big and rattling against the collar that’s still around his neck.</p>
<p>Jango’s first impulse is to get ready for danger—he’s disoriented and still tired, and he hurts: he doesn’t know where he is, or how he got there, or anything else. Slowly, his brain remembers, however: and he can’t hear anyone else in the room with them, they are alone, and so he lets himself relax slightly and look at his son properly.</p>
<p>Boba looks—well. He looks ridiculous. Jango watches him, unmoving, his body feeling like a massive bruise, still dizzy with hunger and dehydration. He smiles, although he can also see how tired and sick boa still looks—five-year-olds shouldn’t have rings under their eyes. Jango licks the blood from his cracked lips and blinks the sleep away—he was so exhausted he didn’t even dream. His head feels like it’s full of cotton, and his eyes are gritty and dry. He needs food and water and a lot of bacta and ice. Jango isn’t as young as he used to be, and his joints and limbs are complaining loudly about the things he put them through the previous day.</p>
<p>Jango wonders about the jetii—he doubts Kenobi will be feeling much better, even with the help of his Force osik. Jango can still see him in his mind’s eye, fastidiously rewrapping his sprained ankle while sitting on the hangar’s floor.</p>
<p>He will need to replace the rag.</p>
<p>The shabuir was right.</p>
<p>Jango closes his eyes, breathes in deep—there is a time for fury, for revenge and retribution, but it isn’t now.</p>
<p>Boba has noticed that Jango’s awake, and so he makes himself put the rage away anyway. He won’t let that that kind of thing influence how he treats, talks to or interacts in any way with his son.</p>
<p>“Are you awake?” Boba says in Mando’a. His voice sounds strange through the buy’ce’s speakers. Jango snorts and then winces. He makes himself sit up on the bed and grimaces when he sees the state his armour and boots have left the sheets in. “Lali told me to let you sleep.”</p>
<p>“Lali?” Jango goes to rub his eyes, realises he didn’t even take off his gloves and scowls. They stink—he stinks. No wonder they’ve been left alone.</p>
<p>“Yes. I asked her if I could call her that because her name is so long and I can’t say it well and she said yes.”</p>
<p>Jango blinks again. Now gloveless, he rubs his eyes his his face. His stubble is in its way to becoming a full beard, and he grumbles under his breath.</p>
<p>He must be talking about the Twi’lek. Eul’alia.</p>
<p>“That’s... very thoughtful.”</p>
<p>Jango’s missing something—he isn’t sure what. He decides to let it go, to put it away for later.</p>
<p>“It’s what the clones do,” Boba says, his young voice perfectly matter of fact. He hasn’t taken off the buy’ce yet. Jango tenses up. “Not all of them have names but their numbers are so long, it’s better to ask. It’s—it’s <em>polite</em>.”</p>
<p>Jango knew some of his eyayade had chosen names for themselves. He also knew that sometimes, when he is busy, Boba convinces one of the trainers—usually Skirata or Gilamar or El-Les—to let him spend time with the cadets.</p>
<p>He had not thought, however, that Boba would actually <em>spend</em> time with them, that he’d <em>talk</em> to them. Jango stares at his son, trying to not let his confusion, his—whatever he’s feeling show on his face. Boba sounds so proud of himself; and he should. He acted as Jango would have told him to, nothing more and nothing less.</p>
<p>“Yes. Yes it is,” he ends up saying. His eyayade are what—five? The first batches, Skirata’s Nulls and the Alphas, are barely teenagers.</p>
<p>Jango forces himself to put them out of their mind.</p>
<p>“Where is Eul’alia, ad’ika?” Jango asks Boba. The boy shrugs, and the buy’ce wobbles dangerously—Jango holds it in place.</p>
<p>“Dunno. She left when you fell asleep,” he says, perfectly unconcerned. “You smell, bu.”</p>
<p>Jango snorts—he can’t see his kid’s face, but he can imagine the way he’ll be scrunching up his nose.</p>
<p>“I know, Bob’ika. Sorry,” Jango says.</p>
<p>“You always tell me that when I smell I have to go wash.”</p>
<p>“I know, ad’ika. I haven’t had the time.”</p>
<p>Boba tilts his head—the helmet wobbles again, and he raises a hand to keep it still. Jango feels his stare, and he keeps quiet and lets the boy look at him. He’ll have to leave soon enough, to find food and water and deal with everything his twelve hour nap has put on hold.</p>
<p>“But you will go now?” Boba asks. The buy’ce speakers can’t hide the way his voice trembles and cracks.</p>
<p>Jango sighs. He carefully grabs the buy’ce and takes it off—Boba lets him, and when Jango places it down on the bed next to him, his son crawls into his arms and hugs his neck, his head.</p>
<p>“You have blood in your hair,” Boba whispers. Jango swallows and closes his eyes. He feels a small, sticky hand clumsily stroking his hair.</p>
<p>It’s not the first time Boba has seen him hurt—there’s always something when he comes back from a job, and he’s taken to training and sparring with some of the Cuy’val Dar as a way of keeping himself fit and avoiding restlessness—and they may have agreed and signed the contract, but that doesn’t mean they like him.</p>
<p>But this is different.</p>
<p>Boba has seen black eyes and nosebleeds and sprained joints, but that’s it. His son may not know yet that Jango has protected him as well as he can from the realities of being a bounty hunter, but children are smart and observant, and Boba’s smarter and more observant than most because he’s his son.</p>
<p>For most of Boba’s life, his father has been invincible, bigger than life—and he may be young, but for a child, five years is a literal lifetime. Now he’s finding out that Jango’s just human. Nothing more and nothing less.</p>
<p>Boba holds Jango harder. He hides his face in the crook of Jango’s neck. Jango rests a hand on his son’s back, and Boba doesn’t tell him that he wants to go home, but Jango hears it anyway.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jango armours up and goes downstairs. He feels more human, but the trip takes him forever, and when he arrives at the big room on the ground floor he’s happy to find it mostly empty. It’s early in the night, and most of Kawa’s goons are somewhere else.</p>
<p>When he steps through the door—sweating and shivery inside his stinking kute—Jango finds Calanta sitting at the big table. She doesn’t look at him, but he knows she knows he is there.</p>
<p>She’s doing something. Jango stops, barely two steps inside the room, and frowns. There’s a luma right beside her left elbow—she’s right-handed—and its warm yellow light falls on the pale grey rag that’s resting on the table. Next to it are a bottle of—something, gun oil, maybe, but not the kind that’s used on conventional blasters, and another rag, this one stained.</p>
<p>On top of the first rag there are almost a dozen metallic pieces of some kind of weapon, and while Jango stares, the woman grabs two of them and begins to reassemble whatever it is. It looks like a blaster, but it isn’t one.</p>
<p>Jango breathes in the smell of the oil. He approaches the table and the box of ration packs that’s still resting there. He drank some water before leaving Boba’s room, but he’s still hungry, and the flimsifoil rectangles shine in the dim, yellow light like they are made of some kind of precious mineral.</p>
<p>“Fett,” Calanta greets him. She sounds as she always does—gruff and cold and impatient. “Grab some food and sit down.”</p>
<p>Jango’s plan was to eat whatever he could scrounge either in the barn where he has been sleeping or with his son. For a second, he thinks about ignoring the woman and doing just that—the last thing he wants to do is to take off his buy’ce in front of her, to have to be civil to her.</p>
<p>“I am not asking,” she says.</p>
<p>Jango sits down. He carefully places his buy’ce next to him on the table, and then fishes a ration pack from the box without checking first if it’s fit for humans.</p>
<p>The noise of the flimsifoil envelope ripping seems to echo in the quiet room. Jango watches Calanta while he eats, slowly, giving his stomach time to get used to it. He doesn’t really taste it. The woman keeps reassembling her weird weapon, and Jango wonders, then, where the hell is Kawa. When Calanta finishes she grabs the bottle of oil, one of the many tools that are spread around her, and begins cleaning the weapon.</p>
<p>It’s a slugthrower.</p>
<p>It has been years since the last time Jango saw one of those. They are brutal, vicious things—expensive, too. Jango barely knows how to use one, and he’s been working as a beroya since he was—he’s been working as a bounty hunter for many years.</p>
<p>Jango finishes his food and then stays where he is, his face blank and his buy’ce next to him on the table. Calanta barely looks at him until she’s done with her gun, and then she carefully places it on the rag on the table and stares at him with her yellow eyes shining dimly in the darkness, her gaze cold and sharp.</p>
<p>A darksider, Kenobi said. Jango pushes him out of his mind. He remembers the cantina, the way Calanta almost made the Ithorian confess the truth.</p>
<p>What’s a darksider doing here, of all places?</p>
<p>The silence stretches. Calanta keeps stroking the barrel of her slugthrower—it looks like a blaster and doesn’t, at the same time: it feels like a thing out of time, like a weapon from a different world—and Jango just stares at her, keeps his face blank and his mind empty.</p>
<p>“You look like shit,” she finally says. Jango keeps quiet. “What happened to you?”</p>
<p>He knows he told them something the night before. After they asked about the boy, they told him to explain his absence and the state of his armour. They wanted to know where he had been, what he had been doing, the whys and the hows and the whats.</p>
<p>“Fell into a mine,” Jango finally says. “Took me a whole day to find my way out.”</p>
<p>Calanta squints her eyes, but Jango doesn’t look away. He isn’t lying—he has nothing to hide.</p>
<p>He feels something brush against his mind—something alien, other, intrusive. He thinks of nothing, feels nothing. Focuses on his hunger, his exhaustion, all the petty hurts his body carries within. If not for his business relationship with Tyrannus he wouldn’t know what to look for, but he has been dealing with the Sith for five years, and Calanta’s clumsy attempt at trying to claw her way into his mind feels like children’s play.</p>
<p>“So you didn’t find the boy,” she says after a while.</p>
<p>Jango nods once.</p>
<p>“I didn’t.”</p>
<p>The woman eyes Jango. She doesn’t believe him, but he feels her draw away—either she’s given up or she doesn’t think she needs confirmation.</p>
<p>Maybe both.</p>
<p>She makes the slugthrower disappear inside her jacket and stands up from her chair. She grabs her hat from the table.</p>
<p>“Go wash, Fett,” she says before leaving the room. “You stink.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Obi-Wan spends his first day back in the brothel in bed. He sleeps, and he dreams; he knows he wakes up more than once, still dehydrated, and that he talks, that he calls for people who aren’t there.</p>
<p>Sometimes, when he opens his eyes, he feels someone else in the room—and that worries him, even in his feverish state. Obi-Wan cannot allow himself that kind of vulnerability—but he’s so tired, and it hurts so much. Whoever is in the room with him keeps their peace—they don’t talk or touch Obi-Wan: they just watch and breathe quietly while sitting next to his bed in his little room on the second floor, and when he asks for water they help him drink.</p>
<p>When Obi-Wanfinally wakes up it’s been more than a day. His head hurts and his whole body feels like a giant bruise. He’s alone, but Obi-Wan can hear people talking downstairs, someone listening to music, the muffled noise of a limmie game coming from one of the other rooms in the hallway.</p>
<p>For a beat, Obi-Wan just stays where he is, laying on his borrowed, narrow bed on his side, his back to the door. The room is full of light, and the setting sun has turned the air into something golden and warm. He cannot remember undressing, but he isn’t wearing any clothes, and he is sticky with grime and old sweat. His left ankle is so tightly wrapped Obi-Wan barely move it, and when he touches his right side he finds a big bacta patch.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan closes his eyes and lets himself drift for a while. Whoever spent time with him in the room was—tired, anxious. They also felt suspicious, but not overly so. Whatever he must have said while he was asleep and dreaming wasn’t enough to make them distrust him.</p>
<p>He must have spent all his bad luck in the mines with Fett.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan groans. Fett. He pokes at his bond to Anakin, and his padawan answers, reliefboredomanxiety flowing to Obi-Wan and threatening to drown him. He raises his shields, he has to, Anakin’s emotions are too strong for him in his weakened and half-asleep state, but he is glad nonetheless.</p>
<p>Glad and surprised.</p>
<p>Fett didn’t tell anyone he found Anakin. Why? Obi-Wan doubts it’s from the kindness of his heart.</p>
<p>It’s not that Fett can’t be kind—Obi-Wan has seen it. The Mandalorian saved his life, and then he—Obi-Wan remembers, the image weirdly clear, how Fett tried to wrap his ankle for him with his disgusting rag, the way Fett’s face changed when Obi-Wan told him he’d take care of it himself.</p>
<p>But Fett’s first and only priority is his own son. And it may be inconvenient, but Obi-Wan can respect that. He understands.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan knows that there are very few things he wouldn’t do for Anakin—the Council is aware of this and has told him, again and again, to be careful with his own heart.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan isn’t the Jedi he should be.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs and rubs his face. He’s still hungry—he thinks he remembers someone giving him some kind of broth or liquid nutrient paste when he got back to the brothel, and that he ate that back in the kitchens of the first floor, but everything else is a blur. He must have lost consciousness, blacked out. He wonders what he told them—they must have had questions about his absence, after all.</p>
<p>What did Fett tell Kawa and the darksider? What if someone notices both of them went missing at the same time? If anyone connects both disappearances it might hurt both their chances at getting out of here. And someone is bound to—Spadaro will probably be too preoccupied with the Black Sun to pay any attention to Obi-Wan comings and goings, but he wouldn’t bet his padawan’s life on that, and Kawa’s darksider will have noticed.</p>
<p>What is someone like that doing here? It could be a coincidence, of course, plain bad luck—but Obi-Wan has seen too much, lived through too much, to actually believe that. As much as he likes to joke about his lack thereof, luck does not actually exist, and he’s beginning to think coincidences don’t either. Call it the will of the Force or something else.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan scowls. He should get out of bed, and he needs to go to the ‘fresher, but he turns on his bed and stares at the ceiling, his brain slowly poking at the puzzle.</p>
<p>Why were they sent there? Why was he? The mission came from someone in the Senate, and that someone asked for Obi-Wan by name—and while that’s not exactly strange, it’s not that normal. It came from someone from the Chancellor’s circle, not the man himself, and that’s why the Council accepted the mission, and it also may explain why nobody bothered to research the mission dossier more carefully.</p>
<p>Why Tchuta-1? Why Obi-Wan? Most of the things on the dossier are false—there are no miners here, no property conflict. It’s a gang war and the moon is Hutt-controlled. Their ship was shot from the sky the moment they came close enough to hit, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure he would have survived if Anakin hadn’t been with him. He’s a good pilot, he’s more than good, actually—but Anakin is excellent, and he knows ships as well.</p>
<p>And then the darksider, and the fact that she’s looking for Obi-Wan, for his padawan. He suspected it was a trap the moment someone shot at them, and he’s pretty sure its primary target used to be Obi-Wan himself: someone wants him out of the way.</p>
<p>What would have happened if Obi-Wan had died there, alone, while his padawan was in the Temple? He wants to think that some other master would have accepted Anakin as their apprentice—he’s almost sure someone would have offered. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin: he knows that his padawan doesn’t feel completely comfortable in the Order, that he sometimes still thinks about leaving, and that one of the few things that keep him in the Temple is Obi-Wan himself.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, or assume anything until he has any evidence, or see enemies where there are none. But he isn’t stupid either—Obi-Wan is perfectly able to read between the lines, and paranoia isn’t such when there actually is someone out to get you.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When they ask, Obi-Wan tells them the truth—more or less.</p>
<p>Fett found him when he was coming back from Gonji’s cantina. They fought. He fell into one of the old mines close to the fields, and it took him a whole day to find the way out.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s a good liar—and he <em>looks</em> like he has spent more than a day finding and fighting his way out of an old mine. He doesn’t tell them about the monster. His disappearance might have been suspicious and inconvenient, but he was hurt when he got back, and anyway: they are too busy to worry about anything that’s not related to their current issues.</p>
<p>In the day and a half Obi-Wan has been gone, it seems as if Spadaro has gotten older and sharper both. He looks tired and worn thin, more fragile than ever. But, at the same time, it’s as if arriving at a decision has galvanized him. His eyes are bright with something that’s not spice, and when Obi-Wan tells his story it’s as if he can feel the Twi’lek putting the information aside for later.</p>
<p>They talk in the office while Obi-Wan nibbles at a stale ration pack, the dry protein chalky and tasteless in his mouth. There aren’t many humans in Spadaro’s crew, and most of the food available reflects this fact. And Obi-Wan has put worse things in his mouth, but his mind won’t stop drifting back to the Temple’s refectory, to the restaurants of Coco Town back home on Coruscant, to the tin of tea back in his quarters.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan washed as well as he could in the small ‘fresher in his room, and his clothes have been cleaned, but he still feels disgusting—he thinks he still can smell the mines’ mud on him. They had to set his nose, and every time he moves he thinks he feels his ribs grind and creak, and his sprained ankle keeps complaining, even after the bacta and the brace and a day’s rest.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan finishes his ration bar, crumples the envelope into a small ball, and puts it in his pocket.</p>
<p>He needs to find himself another blaster.</p>
<p>Why the kark did he let Fett keep it?</p>
<p>Someone calls him, and Obi-Wan blinks.</p>
<p>Spadaro had been telling them that one of his envoys returned a few hours ago—one of the Niktos, whose name Obi-Wan still doesn’t know.</p>
<p>The Nikto has good news—Black Sun is open to negotiating, like Spadaro thought they would be. The Twi’lek is in a good mood.</p>
<p>It’s easy finding the thread of the conversation, even easier to say what they expect him to say. They don’t actually expect much from Obi-Wan—he is a grunt, a good fighter, but not much else; and he has been out of commission for more than a day.</p>
<p>Spadaro keeps talking. Obi-Wan watches the man, shifts his weight, tries to rotate his ankle without moving too much. It hurts like hell; he had to help the Toydarian, Hercules, wrap it up, because the man’s knowledge about humanoid anatomy begins and ends with Twi’leks.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s not worried—he’s fought for longer and harder with half the medical attention he has been given. But it’s really blasted uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“How long until they get here?” Spadaro is saying. The Nikto shrugs. They look exhausted.</p>
<p>“One, two days. Probably less,” they answer. “They are interested but they fear the Hutts.”</p>
<p>Spadaro scoffs.</p>
<p>“Who doesn’t,” he says. “Anything else?”</p>
<p>“There are rumours about what’s going on here at the spaceport,” they say. They rub their leathery face, stroke one of the spikes that poke from their cheeks with one clawed finger. “They know about the cannons, and. Well. Kawa’s been leaving them alone, but people are getting nervous.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan listens carefully. He has a bad feeling about this.</p>
<p>“The shuttle they shot down?” Spadaro asks. His black eyes glance at Obi-Wan, find him watching, look away.</p>
<p>Sometimes he really doesn’t like being always right.</p>
<p>The Nikto nods. They don’t look at Obi-Wan, too focused on recounting everything they've heard.</p>
<p>Spadaro hums. One of his lekku, the one that’s not wound around his neck, keeps twitching, the tip moving like the tail of a big cat.</p>
<p>“Will they do anything about it?”</p>
<p>Will they help us, is what he’s actually asking. The Nikto shrugs.</p>
<p>“They are just... waiting to see how things end here,” they explain. They look uncomfortable. Obi-Wan tilts his head. They feel—they are beginning to think they should have left with Kawa, too. They don’t like her or the woman she’s working with, but they know things aren’t going well for Spadaro.</p>
<p>If the thing with Black Sun doesn’t work out, they will either defect or try to leave the moon altogether.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan eyes Spadaro—the Twi’lek already knows.</p>
<p>“How was the road?” Spadaro asks. The Nikto huffs. They point at their arm—there is a dirty bandage high up on their bicep. It’s bloodstained and dusty. The other Nikto has been hovering close to them for the past few minutes, standing too close next to them, their hand on their shoulder.</p>
<p>“Bad,” they say. “Something jumped at me when I was crossing the sierra to the south. Couldn’t even see what it was.”</p>
<p>One of the few things the mission dossier got right is that the moon’s flora and fauna are—well. Tchuta-1’s surface is craggy and pocked and difficult to navigate, and most of its inhabitants—or at least the ones native to the moon—are hostile at best. The spaceports and the mines have been built on the places where the moon’s complicated orography makes things slightly easier for potential settlers.</p>
<p>The dossier said there are just four, three of them in this hemisphere and the last one on the other—but that’s exactly the kind of information Obi-Wan doesn’t trust the dossier to get right.</p>
<p>The fauna though—Obi-Wan remembers the creature from the mines. He grinds his jaw and doesn’t let his hands move toward the wounds on his arms.</p>
<p>“Nothing attacked us when I and Lara were on the way there, though,” the Nikto says. “Bigger groups should be fine.”</p>
<p>Spadaro hums again.</p>
<p>“They said they’d send someone soon,” the other being says. “Some—some envoy or something like that. Told Lara to stay there while I came back to tell you.”</p>
<p>Something sharp and sudden flashes in the cold, calm, black lake that is Spadaro’s mind—relief, mixed with something very like glee. It doesn’t show up on his face.</p>
<p>“When?” he asks.</p>
<p>Nikto don’t have eyelids, but the being looks half-asleep with exhaustion, their small black eyes dull and dry.</p>
<p>“Two, three days,” they say, and sigh. “Told her to stay there. That I would ask you and come back with a place. They will want to meet you, those envoys, sir.”</p>
<p>“I can’t leave the town,” Spadaro says. He isn’t actually talking to them, though—he’s thinking out loud. “I can’t go to the spaceport myself—I need to stay here.”</p>
<p>He falls silent. Obi-Wan looks around the room: the Nikto’s attention is already drifting away, their exhaustion clear on their face—they are leaning on their companion, who keeps frowning in Spadaro’s direction, worried and impatient. The Twi’lek seems to notice that because he blinks and shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Go have that looked at,” he orders. The Nikto nods and then sighs with relief. “Sleep, if you can. I will talk to you later.”</p>
<p>The Nikto nods again, but they don’t leave. They stop at the threshold and look back.</p>
<p>“There is something else,” they begin, and then pause. They’re—conflicted. Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. He senses—anxiety, and confusion. Fear. It tastes <em>wrong</em>, like when you eat a bitter nut by mistake. “What is it?” Spadaro asks him, impatient. His mind is already very far away from there, and he wants them gone, wants to be alone to think and plot.</p>
<p>The Nikto frowns, looks down. They’re a huge being, almost two meters tall, but suddenly they feel small and insecure, weirdly young.</p>
<p>“There was someone else,” they repeat. They open and close their mouth once, twice. Finally, they just reach into their jacket and grab what appears to be a small holopad with a comm unit attached.</p>
<p>“What’s this?”</p>
<p>The Nikto shrugs.</p>
<p>“Someone gave it to us. Odd fellow. Don’t even know what they were. Told us it was for you.”</p>
<p>The Twi’lek frowns. He’s staring at the holopad like it’s a ticking bomb, and for a beat, Ob-Wan thinks he’s going to throw it away or to put it somewhere where he can’t see it and forget about it.</p>
<p>But he doesn’t. Spadaro accepts the holopad and then places it on his desk. Obi-Wan feels a sense of foreboding just by looking at the thing.</p>
<p>Spadaro kicks them out of his office immediately afterward. He sends Obi-Wan back to the spaceport warehouses, and Obi-Wan spends the rest of the day there, sweating under his borrowed hat, borrowed rifle in hand, guarding the gates and trying to meditate, to force his body to heal faster than it actually wants to.</p>
<p>To the surprise of absolutely no one, more responsibility actually means even more work without none of the perks.</p>
<p>Nobody even approaches the place. Repo is still recuperating from his gutshot, and Obi-Wan can sense the rest of the guards patrolling the warehouse complex, their minds swinging between boredom and being terrified of another attack.</p>
<p>The spaceport proper is almost empty: there are just three ships in the hangars. One of them, the only one that’s not a freighter, must be Fett’s. Obi-Wan catches himself trying to catch a glimpse of it over the low hangar walls. He has never seen a ship like that—its hull looks like the shiny carapace of a giant insect.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan may be wrong—maybe Fett has left already, and that ship belongs to someone else. He may be reading too much into it, into its presence and its design. But no; something—instinct or plain logic or the Force—is telling him that that ship belongs to Fett.</p>
<p>And if it belongs to Fett and it’s still there, it means the bounty hunter hasn’t left yet.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan told Fett they wouldn’t keep their promises to him. He must have been right.</p>
<p>And Fet is—weirdly honorable: Obi-Wan knows that, if Kawa and Calanta had respected their part of the agreement, he would have told them and left.</p>
<p>Or maybe Obi-Wan’s wrong, and this is wishful thinking. Maybe they’re just biding their time; maybe Fett already has what he wants and he has decided to stay to make sure that they find Anakin and kill Obi-Wan. Maybe Obi-Wan has signed his own death sentence and condemned his padawan to who knows what by trusting a man he doesn’t actually know, and who has tried to kill him more than once and almost succeeded.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan thinks he’s right—but that’s the thing with him. He always thinks he’s right, even—especially—when he’s wrong.</p>
<p>He’s called back to the brothel when the sun hits the horizon, and he mounts the speeder they’ve sent to pick them up and leaves the warehouse behind feeling dizzy and weak, and half out of his mind with badly managed anxiety—but with the beginnings of a new plan in his mind.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kawa’s complex looks exactly the same way as the last time he was there. Obi-Wan jumps the fence, avoids the guards, and then ducks into a corner to check the room where he saw the boy.</p>
<p>The kid’s still there. He’s sleeping on his bed—there are more blankets piled on the mattress, and an old heating unit presides over the room.</p>
<p>It’s late, but not so late nobody else is awake. Obi-Wan can’t sense anyone else in the room with him, but there is someone on the other side of the closed door—whoever it is feels worried and anxious and tired, exhausted, really, with an undercurrent of guilt and shame mixed in.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan climbs back to the roof, and once there he rotates his shoulders. His ribs hurt, and so does pretty much everything else.</p>
<p>He sits down, shivering in Tchuta-1’s cold night air, and lets his eyes drift aimlessly through the sky. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t see if the boy’s still wearing the explosive collar, but judging from the guard’s feelings, from the fact that he’s still watched, Obi-Wan would say he is.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan can sense the darksider somewhere on the ground floor of the building, and he shields himself, trying to hide not just his Force presence but that he is even there.</p>
<p>Why hasn’t she said anything yet? Why isn’t she looking for them herself? Why is she bothering with all this—Kawa and Spadaro, Fett and his boy, everything?</p>
<p>Obi-Wan curses, his voice low. Nothing makes any sense. He feels like he’s missing so much, that he lacks the information and the context to be able to actually understand what’s going on—he feels like he’s looking at this huge, overly complicated thing from so close that he can only see the smallest part of it.</p>
<p>It’s been years since he had a premonition, since one of his dreams turned out to be a vision of the future, but Obi-Wan is still more attuned to the Unifying Force than most, and he feels it tugging at him, telling him to pay attention.</p>
<p>To pay attention to what, he wants to ask. He only has bits and pieces of information, nothing concrete, nothing useful. Just—paranoia and suspicions and a hell of a headache.</p>
<p>He sighs, rubs his face. Thinks about going back. It’s late, and he’s still tired and weak. He needs to—to rest, to allow his body to recover. And he still wants to take a look at that holopad, just in case. It will probably be nothing—maybe some message from the Hutts, or from another cartel.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan stands up and prepares to jump. He doesn’t look at the place where he knows Fett’s sleeping. He can feel him—he has been aware of Fett since he got close enough to do so. By now, the other man’s mind is familiar, almost—comforting. Obi-Wan doesn’t know how it works, how Fett works, what he thinks or what he feels, but can guess, and that makes it one of the few stable things Obi-Wan’s found in the last few days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fett’s sleeping. His mind is guarded even while he’s unconscious, but Obi-Wan can guess at the general shape of his dreams, of his state of mind. He’s tired and hurt and angry and—desperate. Obi-Wan thinks about the boy, sleeping right under his feet. What kind of person, he asks himself, keeps a boy from his father?</p>
<p>Anger isn’t productive. It almost never is, not on its own; that’s one thing he found difficult to understand as an Initiate and also afterward, when he was Qui-Gon’s padawan. Obi-Wan tries to let go of it, of the feeling, but it’s so hard. He can also sense the child’s distress; he is feeling better than last time, but he’s still sick. Cold and hungry and so, so scared, even in dreams.</p>
<p>What kind of person, Obi-Wan asks himself, this time full of self-loathing, would leave him there?</p>
<p>Obi-Wan knows that, if he had to choose between him and Anakin, he would very probably choose his padawan.</p>
<p>He also knows that he really shouldn’t. But, he tells himself: it’s not the same. Anakin may be his padawan, but he’s also so much more. He is the Chosen One; and Obi-Wan promised his master he’d train him, that he would take care of him.</p>
<p>It’s not the same.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The office is empty when Obi-Wan gets back to the brothel.</p>
<p>This is nothing out of the ordinary: Spadaro does leave the room sometimes. He sleeps in a bedroom on the first floor, and he usually eats and drinks in the tap room slash common room on the other side of the hallway.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn’t like it.</p>
<p>He enters the brothel through one of the windows in the back. He can hear music, the sound of conversations, and he uses the Force to cloak his presence.</p>
<p>Nobody sees him while he takes the stairs down to Spadaro’s office, but he can feel <em>something </em>in the air, and it makes him more careful than he would usually be: he keeps close to the walls and treads so silently his boots barely make a noise.</p>
<p>The door to Spadaro’s office is locked, but that’s never stopped him. Obi-Wan concentrates, his hand hovering over the control panel, and after a few seconds the locking mechanism clicks, and the door slides open with a whisper. He steps inside and closes it behind himself, and then he looks around, his eyes fighting against the darkness that fills the room.</p>
<p>He switches on the luma on the desk and sits down on Spadaro’s chair. The office looks strange from that side of the table—it feels bigger, darker, its corners full of shadows. The chair is still warm, and it’s so old he can feel the springs inside the cushion.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan can’t find the holopad anywhere at first. It’s not on the desk—Obi-Wan looks under the flimsi and the old datapads, and the only things he finds are dust and dead bugs and a couple of cigarra butts, so old they are half-mummified. It isn’t in any of the desk drawers either. He curses under his breath, frustrated, and stands up, very aware of the fact that if he’s caught inside the office he’ll have a lot of very fast talking to do if he doesn’t want to end his days full of blaster bolts in a karking brothel.</p>
<p>The holopad isn’t on the shelves, either, or in the tall cupboard in the corner. Obi-Wan curses again, and then calms down, focuses himself. He closes his eyes and reaches for the Force and—</p>
<p>The window.</p>
<p>He vaults over the desk. It takes a bit of jiggling, and he ends up with a couple of splinters in the meat of the palm of his right hand, but he manages to find it quickly. It was wedged between the wood planks of the boarded-up window and the glass itself, and it feels cold and dusty.</p>
<p>It’s not password protected, but it feels—strange. Heavier than it should be. Obi-Wan uses a second of his dwindling time to just touch and examine the holopad with his fingertips, not for the first time wishing he had any of Quinlan’s psychometry. The holopad looks used, but it’s not the kind of thing one can find easily this far out in the Rim—it’s the kind of thing one buys in the Core. It’s well-made and high quality, and while it does feel like it’s been used for some time, it isn’t an old model.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan frowns. It isn’t that weird for someone like Spadaro to have. He may be stuck here, in the middle of nowhere, but the people he works for do have that kind of money—they <em>can</em> afford the latest technology, things like signal jammers and private relays, like the one—and here Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows, reluctantly impressed—whose signal is encoded in this specific holopad.</p>
<p>But something claws at him. The Force feels strange around the holopad, almost Dark. Obi-Wan can’t stop staring at the thing—it leaves a bad taste on his tongue, like he’s taken a bite of something rotten by mistake.</p>
<p>When he switches it on, he finds that it’s mostly empty. There are some files that look like images that he decides to leave for later, and just one comm code logged in—Obi-Wan memorizes the string of numbers, and afterwards he pauses with his finger on the return call option.</p>
<p>But no—he can’t risk it. He doesn’t actually know what he’s looking for, or why the Force swirls around the ‘pad.</p>
<p>It takes him longer than it should, like someone has taken care to make them hard to find, but Obi-Wan is eventually able to find the call logs. When he finally does, he half-expects them to be gone.</p>
<p>But no—maybe he wants to listen to the conversation again first, or maybe he intends to make a copy of the call logs.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan listens carefully—no one is nearby, and the ones who are are appropriately entertained. He breathes in, breathes out, and then loads up the last call.</p>
<p>Two voices: one is Spadaro’s, and the other is too distorted for him to recognise. There is something in the way they speak he thinks he’s heard before, but isn’t enough for him to recall a name or a face. He puts it out of his mind, and focuses on what they’re actually saying.</p>
<p>The conversation is frustratingly cryptic. There are only two voices, Spadaro’s and one Obi-Wan thinks he should be able to recognise but can’t. No image.</p>
<p>A lot of secrecy for a mining colony in the middle of nowhere, but by now that’s the least of Obi-Wan’s worries.</p>
<p>Because whoever has sent the thing has told Spadaro about him, about Anakin, about the shuttle and Kawa’s orders and her inability to deliver to the stranger what she promised in exchange for their help.</p>
<p>And that is: one Obi-Wan Kenobi’s corpse, and one Anakin Skywalker, alive and healthy.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He doesn’t actually remember how he gets out of the room. He knows he puts the holopad back in the place where he found it, and that he closes the door to the office when he leaves, and that he doesn’t see anything while he gets himself out of the building. He stays close, climbs up to the roof, and then he stays there for a while, his mind both blank and moving too fast at the same time.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how he feels, what he feels beyond a sense of—of overwhelming panic. Obi-Wan keeps his connection to Anakin closed, his shields raised and strong, and he hurts and he is cold and he’s tired, and his brain is—it’s buzzing. He doesn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>For the past few days, the brothel and its occupants have turned out to be one of the few things he could trust. Or maybe not trust—but he knew he would be safe there. His little room on the second floor has ended up being a haven, and he likes some of them: Anto and Hercules and the Latero, Repo, even if Obi-Wan has tried very hard not to have too much to do with them, to keep himself apart and aloof.</p>
<p>And the thing is: he listened to the conversation in its entirety. He has it burned on his mind. Spadaro didn’t actually agree to anything the person from the call asked him to do, but. Obi-Wan can read between the lines, and he knows the Twi’lek, he knows the man cannot afford to say no, that he won’t want to.</p>
<p>The person from the holopad, their voice distorted but clipped, familiar, so familiar—they promised Spadaro money, and power, and guns, and a way out of the moon if he wanted it. And they showed Spadaro pictures, there are holos of Obi-Wan, of Anakin, in the holopad.</p>
<p>Whoever took them did it recently, on the steps to the Coruscant Temple, and isn’t that another thing Obi-Wan will have to deal with if they ever get back home.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sits down on the dirty floor, leans his back against one of the low walls, and cradles his head in his hands. From the fog of his panic he is aware of the fact that he may be very close to having a panic attack—it would be the first in a very long time, and he cannot afford it. He tries to slow his breathing, to focus on the way the cold night air feels against his bare hands, against his face.</p>
<p>It doesn’t work.</p>
<p>He feels—he feels sick. Like he is going to puke. And he can’t breathe—there is a thing pushing down on his chest, and he can hear himself struggling to gulp down air, the noise too loud, pathetic in the quiet of night.</p>
<p>What the kark is he going to do? How is he going to keep Anakin safe? He doesn’t even know how to do that, how is he supposed to—to get them back home, and then train him and educate him and help him leave all the shit that happened to him as a child behind? Obi-Wan can’t, he is in over his head, and he promised but he shouldn’t have been allowed to do this. He is not good enough, he never will, he is—he was a failed Initiate, he was supposed to go to the Agricorps and become a karking farmer, who thought it would be a good idea to let him train anyone?</p>
<p>The last time he felt like this he was in his quarters, back in the Temple. Anakin was—somewhere else. In class, probably. Obi-Wan can’t remember, his memories of those first years are spotty: grief and anxiety have made a number on his ability to recall what was happening.</p>
<p>But Obi-Wan remembers that afterwards, he went to see Bant, that he spent that afternoon helping her and one of the other assistants in the Halls of Healing, counting bacta packs and bandages and dermal menders. She didn’t make him talk, but she knew how he was feeling, and she let him stay, her quiet, calm mind soothing his.</p>
<p>There is no Bant here—he’s alone. Alone with his padawan. And Anakin depends on him.</p>
<p>There aren’t many things Obi-Wan wouldn’t do for him. When he feels less as if he were dying, Obi-Wan folds his legs under himself and begins to think.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>obi-wan has a panic attack. it's at the end of the chapter, so tread carefully.</p>
<p>also jango is there, i guess, doing jango things (jango is kind of a trigger warning by himself)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The End of the Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey did you know that next monday will be the last day i update this thing? because i noticed yesterday and i'm feeling some way about it.</p>
<p>anyway: chapter warnings in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jango wakes up instantly. He blinks in the dark, still half-asleep and unsure of where he is or why he is awake. But then he hears it again—someone knocking on the door so hard they are making the whole building rattle.</p>
<p>Jango curses under his breath and sits up on the bed. He slips his feet into his boots and doesn’t bother armouring up, crosses the short distance between his cot and the door in two long steps.</p>
<p>An Ugnaught of indeterminate gender glares at him when he opens the door. They stink of liquor and cigarra smoke.</p>
<p>“What,” Jango says. It’s only been a few days since they escaped the mines. He hasn’t been sleeping well, and he feels numb and clumsy.</p>
<p>“Kawa wants you in the big room,” the Ugnaught says.</p>
<p>“When?”</p>
<p>“Now.” The Ugnaught attempts to turn away and leave, but Jango grabs them by the shoulder and pulls—they squeal and slash at him with a vibroknife, but they aren’t fast enough: in half a second, Jango has them on the ground, a foot on their neck.</p>
<p>“Why?” he asks.</p>
<p>The night is very quiet: the only thing that breaks the silence is the Ugnaught’s squeals, their shallow breath.</p>
<p>Jango lifts his foot but doesn’t move away. He flips the Ugnaughts knife in his left hand and leans against the wall at his side, and watches while they sit up, their small eyes wet and terrified.</p>
<p>“Why?” Jango asks again.</p>
<p>They swallow, once, twice.</p>
<p>“There is a man. The—the other bounty hunter. The one who followed you.”</p>
<p>What the kark is Kenobi doing?</p>
<p>“He just—knocked on the main building’s door. Said he wanted to speak with Kawa. They have him there still.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jango steps into the big room and then stops there, just over the door.</p>
<p>Kenobi is kneeling on the floor, his hands tied at his back. He doesn’t look afraid. He looks pale, and there is blood on his face, under his nose, but his face is blank, his shoulders relaxed. Calanta’s staring at him, her yellow eyes almost wild, but he doesn’t even look aware of her presence—it’s like she isn’t even there.</p>
<p>He shaved sometime in the past few days, and without the beard he looks younger than Jango knows he is. Jango watches him. He looks at the line of his jaw, the angle of his nose. It appears unbroken, and the bruises are mostly gone, but there is still something of the mines, of the cave, in the way he looks at Kawa from under his fringe.</p>
<p>They are alone in the room. Calanta keeps her own blaster trained on Kenobi, but Kawa looks at him like she can’t really believe he’s there. Her green eyes are full of something that’s between glee and greed, and she keeps pacing from one side of the room to the other, a gun in her right hand and something Jango can’t see in the other.</p>
<p>“Fett,” Kawa says when she sees Jango. “Finally. Look who’s here.”</p>
<p>Kenobi glances at Jango, but his face doesn’t change. He keeps that polite, bland smile in place—there is no recognition in his eyes.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t say anything. He stays where he is and crosses his arms.</p>
<p>A scowl crosses Kawa’s face, quick like lightning, but she hides it again behind a smile. She raises her left hand, shows off what she’s holding between her fingers.</p>
<p>“You know what this is?” Jango doesn’t answer. Kawa keeps talking half a second later. “Our new friend has decided to join the winning side—and he comes bearing gifts!”</p>
<p>Jango frowns. This doesn’t fit with the things he knows about the jetii—he might not like Spadaro’s crew any more than Jango likes Kawa’s, but nothing about him pointed to him being a traitor.</p>
<p>A few days before Jango would have scoffed: after all, that's what one would expect from jetiise. Nothing but betrayal and lies and hypocrisy. But now Jango thinks he knows what kind of man Kenobi is—and whatever his faults are, and Jango’s sure he has many, he isn’t the kind to betray other people’s trust.</p>
<p>Something’s wrong.</p>
<p>Jango rests his right hand on the butt of his borrowed blaster—a mistake. Calanta sees the gesture, and she frowns, squints, tilts her head; she’s noticed the fact that he only has one.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you curious about the kind of gifts our good new friend is trying to buy our good graces with, Fett?” Kawa doesn’t like being ignored. She crosses the room in his direction, her heavy boots making the floorboards rattle.</p>
<p>Jango really isn’t, but he plays along—he cocks his head, still silent.</p>
<p>The woman laughs. She isn’t stupid—she knows perfectly well that he’s playing along, but that’s more than enough for her. She understands very well how power and the lack thereof function.</p>
<p>It’s all about what she can make other people do—it doesn’t really matter whether they mean it or not, just that they do it when she tells them to.</p>
<p>Kawa tells Jango about the spaceport warehouse complex, about the keycard ‘Ben’ had in his pocket when he knocked on the main building’s door a few minutes ago. She tells Jango that Ben told her that he’s had a change of heart.</p>
<p>Jango doubts it. He keeps his eyes on Kenobi: his face still has that familiar blankness, that bland and mild serenity, barely hidden by his customary condescending half-smile.</p>
<p>This is and isn’t the man he fought beside in that awful mine.</p>
<p>By giving them the keys to the warehouses he has tipped the scales in their favour, but it’s obvious that for Kawa that isn’t enough. She crows, paces the room, and then turns back to Kenobi, stops in front of him, and grabs him by the chin, makes him raise his face and look at her in the eye. For a beat they just stare at each other, her bright green eyes against his blue ones.</p>
<p>“I told Fett to kill you a few days ago,” she suddenly says. Jango tenses up, and he sees Calanta look at him. “Maybe I should ask him one last time. Let him take you out back.”</p>
<p>Kenobi keeps quiet. He just looks at her, his demeanour calm.</p>
<p>Jango finds he doesn’t want to see what happens if Kawa gets tired of playing and decides to go ahead with her threat. The idea of executing Kenobi in cold blood as if he were a common criminal is not something he wants to contemplate.</p>
<p>Jango grimaces. That’s inconvenient. He eyes the Zabrak, his hand resting on the butt of his blaster. If she asks him to, he’ll do it—fortunately for Kenobi, however, he doubts it.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Kenobi says. His voice still keeps his fake Mid Rim accent, and it isn’t bad at all—but Jango has heard his real voice, and now he can’t stop noticing the cracks in the way he pronounces some words, in the way his voice wants to lilt in all the wrong places.</p>
<p>Calanta’s glare is poisonous.</p>
<p>“Spit it out,” Calanta says.</p>
<p>Kenobi tilts his head back to look at her. It reveals the pale and scruffy underside of his jaw, and Kawa twitches—he ignores her, but Jango knows he’s seen it.</p>
<p>He really isn’t scared of any of them—he’s either a genius or a complete idiot.</p>
<p>Probably a mix of the two, Jango thinks.</p>
<p>“Untie my hands,” Kenobi begins, “and I will.”</p>
<p>Kawa doesn’t even look at Calanta.</p>
<p>“Do it,” she snaps. Calanta’s scowl deepens, and she opens her mouth, but Kawa interrupts her, a low growl shattering the tense silence.</p>
<p>For a beat, Jango is sure Calanta is about to defy Kawa. She just stares at the Zabrak, her eyes incandescent with rage—after a while, however, she obeys. She approaches Kenobi with short, jittery steps, blaster still in hand, and frees him one-handed, trying to keep as far away from him as possible.</p>
<p>Jango just watches them, amused despite himself. He’s half-sure they’ve forgotten about him, and he’s perfectly fine with that. It lets him watch, keep an eye on the three of them. Kawa is trying to act as if everything was fine, but she is clearly furious, and she keeps her green eyes on Calanta, her arms crossed, the muscles straining against the sleeves of her jacket. Calanta has gone blank again, cold and distant—Jango doesn’t trust it.</p>
<p>The only one who appears more or less comfortable is Kenobi, because of course he is—he looks around himself once he’s back on his feet, his right hand rubbing the opposite wrist, and then cracks his neck, first one side and then the other. He’s still weirdly blank and absent, but Jango would swear he finds the whole thing funny. He looks like was just told a very good joke but has decided to keep it for himself.</p>
<p>Jango scowls. Of course the shabuir <em>thrives</em> on conflict. Jetiise and their osik.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Kenobi says politely, his eyes focused on Kawa. For a second she doesn’t react, still glaring at her lieutenant. Then she turns to look at the man. He puts his hands behind his back and stays where he is, his posture easy, relaxed, his head still slightly cocked. She’s a head taller than him, but he doesn’t look intimidated in the least.</p>
<p>Calanta looks like she’s half a second from grabbing the big vibroknife that hangs from her belt and sticking it—or trying to; she may be dangerous but Jango knows perfectly well where he’d put his credits, and he isn’t a betting man—through Kenobi’s smug face.</p>
<p>“My name is Ben,” Kenobi says. “Perhaps you’ve heard about me.”</p>
<p>Jango rolls his eyes inside his buy’ce.</p>
<p>“I have,” is Kawa’s answer. She’s in a bad mood and she’s getting tired of playing. She wants answers and results and she wants them now. “So I suggest you tell me why I shouldn’t put a chair leg through your chest.”</p>
<p>Kenobi just looks at her for a beat.</p>
<p>“Spadaro has contacted the Black Sun,” Kenobi says. Kawa pales, and from the corner of his eye Jango can see the way Calanta twitches—whoever she’s actually working for, they either didn’t see this coming or, if they did, they didn’t tell her about it. “He has yet to reach an agreement with them, but he will.”</p>
<p>“How do you know of this,” Kawa says. “How has this come to happen?”</p>
<p>Kenobi shrugs. He approaches the table, leans a hip on the edge.</p>
<p>“Spadaro knows he’s losing,” he replies. “You’ve got the men, you’ve got the spaceport, you’ve got guns. And you have him.”</p>
<p>Kenobi nods in Jango’s direction. It’s the first time he has even acknowledged his presence. His eyes are hard, cold.</p>
<p>“I do,” Kawa says. She grins, full of teeth, and it’s fake, it’s all a front—but Jango can tell she’s suddenly in a much better mood. “Him and you.”</p>
<p>Kenobi raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” he says with a half-smile. “I thought you were thinking about having me shot.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it’s still on the table, but I’d say your chances of making it out of this room alive are getting better,” Kawa replies. She’s leaning slightly towards him, her hungry eyes fixed on his face. She is staring at him full of greed.</p>
<p>Jango glances back at Calanta. Where before there was only quiet, muted fury, there is now calculation.</p>
<p>If Jango’s instincts aren’t wrong—and they rarely are—and she is working for whoever has asked Kawa to find Kenobi’s apprentice, things have just gotten much easier for her.</p>
<p>Jango turns back to Kenobi. He’d like to know what the kriff Kenobi’s playing at.</p>
<p>He’s half-flirting with Kawa now, his body language easy and approachable. And by now Jango knows how to do that kind of thing, even if it never came naturally to him, so it shouldn’t surprise him so much—but it does.</p>
<p>Jango scowls. What the kriff is the jetii playing at?</p>
<p>Kenobi’s eyes are completely empty, but Kawa is eating it up.</p>
<p>“Tell me more,” she tells him. Kenobi smiles at her, crosses his arms.</p>
<p>And then he does.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>They talk until the sun is up, and then they keep on talking a bit more. Jango stays where he is, unmoving, his back against the wall, and he listens and he watches and he thinks. He joins in when he is asked to, but he spends most of the time staring at Kenobi, bemused by his attitude, and angry about this fact.</p>
<p>It’s not even that he <em>cares</em>—he doesn’t know Kenobi well enough to care, and he’ll make sure it stays that way—it’s just that Jango didn’t see this coming.</p>
<p>By now Jango likes to think that he knows people very well: he knows how people think, how people work. It’s what’s made him such a good hunter: it’s not that he’s good at the killing and murdering part—although he knows he is, as well—but that he’s first and foremost a good <em>hunter</em>. Jango watches and he learns and then he plans accordingly.</p>
<p>And Jango had a lot of time to watch the jetii while they were fighting for their lives in the mines.</p>
<p>The man that half-heartedly flirts with Kawa and subtly antagonizes Calanta is exactly like him and isn’t, at the same time: Kenobi smiles and quips and jokes, but his mind is far away from there and his eyes are just hollow.</p>
<p>It may be fear, or anxiety—but Jango has seen Kenobi scared and anxious. Jango knows how Kenobi looks when he’s terrified out of his mind and shivering and hurt and trying not to breathe too loudly while hiding in a crack in the wall.</p>
<p>Kenobi barely looks at Jango. He never shows him his back and now and then he glances at him, like he’s waiting for Jango to whip out his blaster and shoot him in the back. Jango’s half-sure it’s all a front, but it confuses him nonetheless, even if it makes sense and reflects the way he knows he behaves around Kenobi.</p>
<p>Kenobi tells Kawa everything he remembers about Spadaro, and his plans, and his people. If he feels any kind of remorse about betraying the people he has been living and working with for the past few days, he doesn’t show it. He talks and talks and talks, and when the two women begin to brainstorm the first draft of a plan, he helps them as well, putting that sharp brain of his to work without being asked first.</p>
<p>At first it’s obvious Calanta doesn’t know how to feel about that—but soon enough it’s clear that his ideas are good, and that his will to help is genuine, and she ends up putting her feelings aside, even if she keeps eyeing the jetii, a furrow between her brows.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t want to be there, but he stays, and he keeps quiet unless anyone asks him directly. He watches them and the way they talk to each other and move around each other. He sees how Kawa keeps looking at Kenobi from under her dark eyelashes, and the way the man keeps his distance without making it obvious he’s doing it.</p>
<p>Jango watches the way Calanta stares at Kenobi, the way the woman’s right hand never strays too far away from the blaster at her hip, and Jango remembers the slugthrower he saw her cleaning and reassembling.</p>
<p>Jetiise treat blaster shots like they are free ammo, but you can’t reflect or redirect an actual, physical bullet with a plasma sword. Jango wonders if he should tell Kenobi about it, and then puts it out of his mind.</p>
<p>By the time they’ve finally had enough it’s almost noon, and Jango is hungry and thirsty and in a black mood. They ate and drank while they talked, but he didn’t, and now he’s paying the price.</p>
<p>Kawa asks Jango to find Kenobi a blaster. They leave the main room and descend the stairs in the direction of the big, long cellar that occupies the first floor under the building.</p>
<p>Whoever is bankrolling Kawa gave her an absurd amount of guns. Crates and crates of rifles and blasters and ammunition line the walls from the floor to the ceiling and make the place feel claustrophobic. It’s colder and wetter than the ground floor, and the air feels close and stinks of cheap durasteel, gun oil and the sharp and cloying smell of speeder fuel.</p>
<p>Kenobi keeps quiet while he follows Jango. His boots barely make a nose while they climb down the steps. Jango doesn’t like having him at his back, but something makes him leave him alone. Now that they are alone, the mask is fading, and the tightness of the skin around his eyes is more obvious.</p>
<p>Jango opens the door to the cellar and steps aside, lets Kenobi enter the room first. Kenobi pauses just beyond the threshold, staring at the crates and the guns without seeing them, his eyes moving over them aimlessly.</p>
<p>They’re alone, but Jango steps in behind him and then closes the door. Kenobi’s right hand twitches, and he sees how the other man cocks his head slightly, but he doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Kenobi suddenly says. Jango blinks. “I can take it from here.”</p>
<p>Jango frowns. After a beat, he takes off his buy’ce and stares at Kenobi with his own two eyes. Hearing his fake accent after learning how he really sounds is jarring. Jango doesn’t like it.</p>
<p>Jango unholsters his borrowed blaster and offers it to Kenobi butt first.</p>
<p>“This is yours,” Jango says. Kenobi blinks, and for a beat he looks caught off guard, almost human. His eyes drop to the gun, and then climb until he can look Jango in the eye, and he half-smiles, the expression out of place and hard to interpret.</p>
<p>“Keep it,” he replies. He turns back to the gun crates. “It’ll do you more good to you than it’ll do to me.”</p>
<p>His real accent fades in and out, and Kenobi scowls, rubs at his face with his right hand.</p>
<p>“I don’t want it,” Jango tells him. He doesn’t know why he is insisting—a gun is a gun is a gun. And Kenobi isn’t Mandalorian, even if he apparently can speak the language.</p>
<p>The jetii just shrugs.</p>
<p>“I won’t need it,” he answers. He half-smiles, bitter. “For what we’re going to do one of those will do the job.”</p>
<p>“About that,” Jango begins, knowing that he sounds reluctant and unsure and hating it. “What the fuck are you doing, Kenobi?”</p>
<p>Kenobi doesn’t turn to look at Jango. He half-hides his head between his shoulders, and shrugs once again. He keeps his eyes on the crates, and lets the silence stretch. He looks younger—vulnerable and unsure.</p>
<p>“You don’t want to know,” Kenobi finally answers. He approaches one of the crates, slides one pale and knobby finger up a rifle’s barrel. “And it’s none of your business.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t sound rude or belligerent in the least—he sounds very matter of fact.</p>
<p>And he is right. It’s not actually Jango’s business.</p>
<p>Jango watches while Kenobi touches the rifle and sighs.</p>
<p>“You don’t know what to choose, right,” he says.</p>
<p>Kenobi barks out a laugh, loud and sudden and surprised. He sounds slightly hysterical.</p>
<p>“I’ve no idea whatsoever. I don’t know shit about blasters,” he says cheerfully.</p>
<p>Jango sighs again. He shoulders Kenobi out of the way and leaves his buy’ce on top of an unopened crate. The sooner Jango gets him a gun, the faster Kenobi will leave Jango alone, and then he’ll be able to go grab a bite to eat and see if he can spend some time with his son.</p>
<p>It takes him half a second to find the box he was looking for. He grabs it from the shelf, pops open the cover, and grabs one of the blaster pistols that he finds in there. He checks the barrel and the safety, and then lobs it to the jetii, who grabs it from the air.</p>
<p>Kenobi raises a brow.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says. “I guess.”</p>
<p>“The ammo is there, in the big box behind you,” Jango says. He closes the box once again and returns it to its proper place, and then grabs his buy’ce.</p>
<p>“Aren’t you going to explain to me what kind of gun this is and so on and so forth,” Kenobi asks.</p>
<p>“Do you care?”</p>
<p>Kenobi shrugs. “It just seems like the kind of thing I should know,” he answers.</p>
<p>Jango smirks at him, and then puts on his buy’ce.</p>
<p>“Oh, it is.”</p>
<p>Kenobi snorts. He looks down at the gun, that little weird half-smile still on his face. He examines his new blaster both with his eyes and with his long fingers, like he’s trying to burn the way it feels on his mind. Jango watches him look at it, and not for the first time and despite himself, he wonders what the kark is going on in that head of his. Kenobi looks more human now than he did a few minutes before, and Jango finds that it settles something in him.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you explain it to me, then?” Kenobi asks. He twirls the gun once, twice, ejects and inserts again the clip and then holsters it without even looking. Jango rolls his eyes. Show-off.</p>
<p>“Because I don’t actually like you,” he says, short. He puts on his buy’ce and moves towards the door.</p>
<p>“Yes. I’ve noticed.”</p>
<p>Jango opens the door to the cellar and crosses it—Kenobi follows an instant later. Jango lets him go up the stairs first.</p>
<p>“How’s your nose?”</p>
<p>Kenobi sniffs.</p>
<p>“Just fine, thank you.”</p>
<p>He sounds so much like an Inner Core, High Coruscanti <em>asshole</em>. It’s not even that he is a Jedi, it’s—everything else, as well.</p>
<p>Kenobi stops. It’s so sudden Jango hits his back with the front of his buy’ce hard enough to make him stumble.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with you now?” he spits at him. Kenobi eyes him over his shoulder, and the little hallway is very dark, but Jango’s HUD shows him the way his light eyes glitter, full of humour. The man keeps walking.</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing. I just noticed something.”</p>
<p>It’s bait—he wants him to ask. Jango rolls his eyes, and keeps quiet, and keeps telling himself he isn’t actually curious.</p>
<p>“You don’t want to know?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“It’s about the guns.”</p>
<p>Jango keeps his mouth shut.</p>
<p>“About the gun that you’ve given to me and the—“</p>
<p>They reach the landing for the next floor. Jango shoulders him out of the way and leaves him behind, but his buy’ce’s sensors pick up Kenobi’s laugh anyway.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jango goes to his son’s room. Eul’alia opens the door when he knocks. She’s slightly taller than him but Jango can see his son over her shoulder. Boba’s sitting on the floor next to the window, quietly playing with what appears to be a doll made with rags by himself.</p>
<p>When the Twi’lek sees him, she smiles, small and crooked, and then turns away from the door. Boba’s already standing up. He looks tired, and still too pale. Jango kneels on the floor, takes off his buy’ce, and when Boba hugs him around the neck he leans his forehead against his son’s.</p>
<p>For an instant, they just breathe each other in. Jango makes himself open his eyes, and puts his buy’ce back on. He turns to look at Eu’lalia, and the woman shrugs.</p>
<p>“Let’s go out for a while, alright?” Jango says.</p>
<p>Boba nods. Jango picks him up and begins crossing the hallway, his son on his hip and the Twi’lek shadowing them.</p>
<p>“Can we go see the tookas?” Boba asks in Basic.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t sigh, even if he really wants to. He answers in Mando’a.</p>
<p>“We can go to the back side, yes. But you need to remember the rules.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Do you remember the rules, Bob’ika?”</p>
<p>The boy sighs, put upon.</p>
<p>“I can’t touch them if they don’t want me to touch them and if I pet them I have to wash my hands and not touch my face and also I can’t pick them up.”</p>
<p>At his back, Eul’alia tries and fails to hide her snickers. Jango is pretty sure she doesn’t speak a word of Mando’a, but it’s true that his son’s tone of voice is pretty unmistakable.</p>
<p>“Very good, ad’ika,” Jango tells him. Boba sighs again, like he can’t believe he has to do this.</p>
<p>Not for the first time, Jango’s glad he is wearing his buy’ce—kark knows what his face must be doing right now.</p>
<p>“Have you seen my doll?” Boba asks him. He squirms in Jango’s arms, and he adjusts his hold. Boba’s not light, precisely, even if right now he is just skin and bones—Jango loathes the day he’ll be too big to carry around in his arms. “Lali made it!”</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t look at the Twi’lek, but he hears her stumble.</p>
<p>“Yes, it’s very nice,” Jango replies. “Did you thank her?”</p>
<p>Boba scoffs. “Yes! I wanted to—to make her a picture and give it to her but we couldn’t find any paints.”</p>
<p>Jango hears her sigh.</p>
<p>“Is he talking about the drawing again?” Eul’alia asks. Jango blinks, surprised, and turns to look at her. The woman keeps talking. “He’s been going on about it since he woke up.”</p>
<p>Boba turns to look at her so suddenly he almost slips out of Jango’s arms and down the stairs. Jango winces, changes the way he is holding his son, and meanwhile Boba keeps talking, the world’s tiniest and fiercest scowl on his face.</p>
<p>“You gave me a toy! I want to give you something too!” he says in Basic. He sounds so—incredibly annoyed. Jango has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his laughter inside. “It’s—that’s how it works.”</p>
<p>“Oh, is it?” Jango says.</p>
<p>“Yes!” Boba turns back to Jango. The collar hits his buy’ce with a loud metallic noise and almost unbalances him again, but the kid ignores it—it’s terrifying, how fast Boba’s gotten used to it. He changes back to Mando’a, as easy as breathing. “Right, bu? You told me that we always have to pay back what we—what we—“</p>
<p>“What we owe,” Jango finishes for him in Basic. Somehow, his voice sounds normal.</p>
<p>“Yes! That!”</p>
<p>They have reached the first floor. Jango puts Boba back on the floor, but his son stays close to him, grabs his hand, and doesn’t move until Jango starts walking. They stay quiet until they are outside; there is a small group of people talking close to the building’s main door, and Jango feels the way they stare at him and at his son. He keeps his buy’ce facing forward, but clicks on its sensors, just in case.</p>
<p>Jango wonders where Kenobi is, and then forcibly puts him out of his mind. He doesn’t actually care—and he doesn’t like the idea of the jetii seeing his son from up close, anyway. Kenobi’s too clever for his own good, and he likes asking questions, and Boba’s way too young to know better.</p>
<p>It’s way too soon for them—for the Jedi Order and the Republic—to learn about the clones. About his eyayade.</p>
<p>They go to the back side of the building, closer to the dead fields and far away from the town. The peaks of the faraway sierra can be seen over the fence, the asteroid field glitters white against the blue of the sky, and the sun is slightly too hot for comfort, despite the early hour.</p>
<p>Eul’alia sits down on the ground, her back against the wall and her long rifle resting beside her. She begins wrapping her lekku better to keep them out of the sun. Boba lets go of Jango’s hand and approaches the hole in the fence the tookas use to slip in and out of the complex.</p>
<p>Jango watches Boba while he eats his ration bar, his buy’ce lifted barely enough over his mouth to allow for the food to fit. It’s already disgustingly warm, and the air stinks of rhydonium and, somehow, of animal shit, even if nothing has been planted or sown in Tchuta-1 for almost a generation.</p>
<p>It reminds Jango of home, of Concord Dawn. His parents’ farm burnt down thirty years ago but sometimes he’s still hit with flashes of memory. Smells, mostly, or how it felt to run between the crops, Arla behind him. The texture of his parents’ armour when he was allowed to help them clean it.</p>
<p>“Oh, hello,” someone says. Jango lets his buy’ce slip and seal itself, and turns around, hand already hovering over his blaster. Kenobi is just a few steps away from him, looking at Jango, hands raised. His new gun hangs shiny and new from his hip holster. “I didn’t know anyone was here. My apologies.”</p>
<p>That’s a lie.</p>
<p>From his peripheral vision, Jango sees Eul’alia stand up.</p>
<p>“Who are you?” she says. She looks Kenobi up and down, eyes narrowed under the sun.</p>
<p>Kenobi smiles, his demeanor back to the empty blankness from earlier.</p>
<p>“No one,” he replies. “A friend.”</p>
<p>Eul’alia snorts. She glances at Jango, and it takes him longer than it should to realise she’s waiting for his opinion. He tilts his buy’ce, and the woman shrugs, sits back down on the ground.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Boba has come closer as well, but not enough Kenobi will be able to grab him if he wants to, and he’s keeping Jango between them.</p>
<p>Jango didn’t know someone could be both proud and blisteringly angry at the same time, but there he is.</p>
<p>Kenobi has obviously noticed as well. He smiles, crooked and rueful and more human than he’s looked since Jango first saw him the previous night, and lowers himself to his right knee.</p>
<p>“Hello,” he says.</p>
<p>Boba frowns. He looks at Jango, at Eul’alia, and then back atKenobi. He’s tense—not scared, not yet, but he feels uncomfortable. Kenobi notices that as well, and he sighs, stands up, takes a step back.</p>
<p>“I will leave you, then,” he tells Jango. He tilts his head in Eu’lalia’s direction, smiles at Boba once again, and then disappears back around the corner.</p>
<p>Jango hears the Twi’lek snort.</p>
<p>“Who <em>the fuck</em> was that?” she says under her breath.</p>
<p>Boba gasps very softly, his previous nervousness momentarily forgotten. “You said a <em>swear</em>!”</p>
<p>Jango tunes them out and blinks his sensors on. Kenobi is up on the roof—his constants are extraordinarily low, but Jango can sense him, if barely.</p>
<p>He must be—meditating. Or whatever it is that jetiise do.</p>
<p>Jango scowls.</p>
<p>He has got enough things to worry about without adding a nosy, meddling jetii to the mix.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Barely a day later, Kawa and Calanta put their plan into motion.</p>
<p>Jango isn’t there when Spadaro is killed.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how it happens—nobody bothers to tell him the details, and he doesn’t care enough to ask. He doesn’t know whether it was fast or slow, if they caught him at the beginning of the ambush or if he survived long enough to understand he had been betrayed, lied to, manipulated.</p>
<p>Jango’s sent to the spaceport instead. There’s an old Latero guarding the gates, and when he sees Jango the man begins opening fire, the blaster bolts of his heavy rifle pinging off Jango’s beskar plate. He doesn’t surrender when he’s told to, and Jango ends up killing him with a single blaster bolt between the eyes.</p>
<p>The keycard Kenobi kept works as it should on the control panel—either they didn’t notice he had betrayed them, or they did notice and forgot about the card: in any case, it was stupid and sloppy—and once the gates are open, taking care of the droids is easy. There are two other people doing the rounds and guarding the complex, and both of them surrender once they see Jango. They take them away after taking all of their weapons—Jango doesn’t ask where.</p>
<p>He can guess.</p>
<p>They leave some guards around the place, and then return to Kawa’s complex. It feels underwhelming, after so long fighting this little war Jango never felt it was his own, to have the conflict end so easily.</p>
<p>Kenobi makes a dangerous foe. The only thing that had to happen for the whole thing to end was for him to change sides.</p>
<p>Kawa gets back to the complex the day after the spaceport falls. She has lost a couple of people, but everyone else looks whole, healthy. Kenobi does as well. He’s still wearing that stupid hat Jango first saw when they met in Gonji’s cantina a lifetime ago, and he looks sunburnt and sweaty under the blond stubble.</p>
<p>He listens to the story of how they took the warehouses with a condescending half-smile, shrugs and cocks an eyebrow when they tell him about the Latero and the prisoners, and generally acts as if he was one of them, all cold-blooded ambition and ruthlessness.</p>
<p>Nobody ever thinks to look at the hands, and so they don’t see the way Kenobi’s fingers tremble.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Jango spends that afternoon with Boba in the back side of the complex. Eul’alia is also there. Lately she’s been spending a lot of time with the boy, either guarding him or keeping him company. Jango keeps an eye on her, but he isn’t too worried. She’s young and she’s soft and she’s also very good with her rifle—his instincts tell him that, if push comes to shove, she will protect Boba: she has made the mistake of letting herself care about him.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know where Kenobi is. The jetii left with Kawa and Calanta and about half of their forces. They went to the brothel. Jango thinks they may have had Spadaro’s corpse, in the back of their speeder, and they drove.</p>
<p>As a show of force is unsubtle and brutal, but Jango knows that it will work and that it is necessary. He wants to believe Kenobi just doesn’t care—he’s a jetii, after all; that’s how they are supposed to be, cold and detached and distant, their hearts and minds as frozen and far away as the outer reaches of the galaxy.</p>
<p>But Jango can’t. If anything, Kenobi cares too much—about fungi and stinging flies and his padawan and Boba and probably about the men and women he has betrayed to end this ridiculous little war.</p>
<p>When they get back night’s already fallen. The sky is pale indigo and purple and dark blue, and the asteroid field shimmers ghostly over their heads, its liquid light shining off the rusty and scratched hood of the speeder.</p>
<p>Jango frowns when he hears the noise of the engine stalling once, twice, before stopping in front of the building. He leaves Boba with Eul’alia in his room with a last kiss on the forehead, and afterwards he stays next to the building’s main door, buy’ce on and arms crossed and back against the wall.</p>
<p>Jango watches while they exit the speeders, overflowing the seats like they are made of something not quite solid. They’re already drunk, and they scream and yell and sing—Kawa’s the loudest. She sounds half-feral. Her white fangs shine in the dark when she laughs, her head thrown back and her long hair almost trailing on the ground, and the men and women who have pledged loyalty to her swirl around her, follow her inside the building. Soon enough, Jango can hear the sound of music, the louder noise of conversation, what very probably is the beginning of a fight.</p>
<p>Kenobi is the last one to enter the place. He stops there, right in front of the threshold, and he has lost his hat and for half a second he looks absolutely miserable.</p>
<p>But then he sees Jango looking, and the smile and the blank eyes are back, like they were never gone.</p>
<p>Jango turns his back on him and goes back to his quarters.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, despite the noise and the swirling anxiety he can feel in the pit of his stomach.</p>
<p>A few hours in, when dawn is beginning to thaw the night’s dark to the east, someone drops into the room. Jango wakes up immediately. For a beat, he stays still, his hand around the butt of his blaster under the pillow. He keeps his breathing calm, as if he were still asleep, and listens closely—he only needs a step, the scuff of a boot against the floor, that’ll be more than enough.</p>
<p>“I know you are awake,” Kenobi says. Jango opens his eyes. The man is standing right in front of his bed, his arms kept away from his body and his right hand empty and outstretched. Some light filters through the space between the door and the floor, through the open window on the roof.</p>
<p>He stinks of liquor and other people’s sweat, but Jango doubts he is drunk.</p>
<p>“Before you kill me with my own blaster,” Kenobi continues. His voice sounds wrecked, hoarse. He isn’t drunk but he must be exhausted. “There is something I would like to show you.”</p>
<p>Janog doesn’t sigh, but he wants to. He blinks what’s left of his dreams from his eyes and sits up on the bed, turns his body until his bare feet touch the cold ground. He would like to put on his boots, his socks, to armour up, but he doesn’t move.</p>
<p>He keeps his eyes on Kenobi, feeling half-naked and vulnerable wearing only his kute, and doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“I would like some light for this, if you don’t mind,” Kenobi says. His real accent is back, and his demeanor has changed: the persona he has been parading around for the past few days has disappeared, and whoever is left is just tired and hollow.</p>
<p>“I would like to know what this is, first,” Jango replies, his voice still thick with sleep. He clears his throat on reflex, and then scowls.</p>
<p>Kenobi sighs. He rubs his face with his free hand, and then flicks his first two fingers, and the lonely bulb that hangs from the ceiling flickers to life. Jango blinks until the bright spots disappear.</p>
<p>The Jedi doesn’t move—he stands there patiently, watching Jango, his face blank and something young and lost looking from his eyes. He looks like shit. He’s lost his jacket somewhere, and his hair is a mess, and the rings under his eyes look darker than the night.</p>
<p>“I have something for you,” Kenobi says.</p>
<p>“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning.”</p>
<p>“No. It couldn’t.”</p>
<p>Kenobi opens his left hand, long, twisted fingers unfolding, and reveals what he has been keeping in his palm.</p>
<p>It’s Boba’s explosive collar’s detonator. Jango would recognise it anywhere. He stands up, blaster raised, and advances upon the jetii, his bare feet silent on the cold ground.</p>
<p>“Give me that,” Jango snarls. He switches to Mando’a without thinking, the words the truest thing he has ever spoken. “Give me that or I will kill you and that boy you protect, I swear on what’s left of my honor.”</p>
<p>Kenobi doesn’t even blink. He drops his hand, cocks his head, and watches Jango, his pale eyes tired and unknowable.</p>
<p>“Don’t you ever get tired of threatening people?” he asks, his voice blandly polite. He isn’t smiling, however, and then he sighs, rubs his face again. Snorts. “This is not—I’m not going to try and blackmail or bribe you into doing anything. I will give this to you anyway. It’s just—“</p>
<p>He stops. Looks at Jango, right in the eye.</p>
<p>“What do you want.”</p>
<p>The jetii gazes at him for an instant. He opens his mouth, shuts it again.</p>
<p>“Nothing. Take it and leave with your son,” Kenobi says. He looks away, shrugs. “We’ll manage.”</p>
<p>Jango blinks, nonplussed. “What?”</p>
<p>“They know who I really am,” Kenobi says, his voice matter of fact. “The darksider knows, at least—I don’t think she has told Kawa yet, but she will. They will come for me soon—they are already approaching this place.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck, Kenobi,” Jango splutters. “You can’t just—“</p>
<p>Kenobi crosses the room. He grabs Jango’s wrist, his hand cold against his skin, and places the detonator on his palm.</p>
<p>“Gonji knows where he is,” he says. This close, Jango can smell him, smell the clean sweat and the gun discharge and that weird ozone smell that always clings to him. Jango stares into Kenobi’s eyes. “And if anything happens to me, Anakin will know. He’s—resourceful. He’ll survive until the Order sends someone.”</p>
<p>Kenobi doesn’t trust him. Jango isn’t surprised—he isn’t offended, either. He shouldn’t trust him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Someone knocks on the door, and Jango scowls. He nods, and folds his fingers around the detonator. For a beat, Kenobi just looks at him, his face full of feeling but unreadable. He lets go of Jango, takes a step back. Jango watches him go—shakes himself. The place where the man’s hand was touching him burns—he’s got rough hands, callused and dry.</p>
<p>“I owe you one,” he hears himself say. “Vor entye.”</p>
<p>Kenobi stops as if frozen. He is standing right under the open window, already facing it, getting ready to jump. Somebody knocks on the door again, this time more urgently, but he doesn’t leave—he turns back to look at Jango, a confused frown on his face.</p>
<p>“What? No,” he says. “N’entye, you don’t owe me anything. I should have done this weeks ago—I could have found that thing the same night I saw your kid in that room.” Kenobi shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”</p>
<p>Jango crosses his arms. “I do.”</p>
<p>The Jedi glares at him. Someone knocks on the door again, and he rubs his face, scratches at his stubble. Eyes Jango again, frustration warring with something else—it doesn’t take long for Jango to identify the feeling: it’s calculation.</p>
<p>“You probably should leave,” Jango tells him. Kenobi flashes him a grin, there and gone, and Jango feels himself scowl.</p>
<p>“We wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression, right, <em>dear</em>?” he replies.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t answer—he turns his back on him and approaches the door. He hears Kenobi snort at his back. The lamp switches off.</p>
<p>Jango looks over his shoulder—he’s alone once again. Half a second later the window closes on its own. Jango breathes in, breathes out. He looks at the detonator, lying black and ugly like an oversized gnat on the palm of his hand, and hides it inside his kute.</p>
<p>He opens the door.</p>
<p>Calanta is waiting on the other side, a black scowl on her face and her hands on her hips, resting on her belt. The slugthrower hangs there in a holster, right next to her blaster.</p>
<p>“What?” Jango says.</p>
<p>The woman’s scowl deepens.</p>
<p>“Where’s Ben,” she spits at him.</p>
<p>Jango raises a brow, and moves away from the door. The light’s dim, and the corners are full of shadows, but the room is small enough it’s obvious nobody is hiding in there.</p>
<p>Calanta isn’t alone. A Quarren and another human, a man, taller and bigger than Jango. He looks at him, sneers—Jango ignores him. He watches while they register the room, arms crossed. When the Quarren approaches the pieces of his beskar’gam, his buy’ce, Jango takes a step in their direction.</p>
<p>The being stops. They look back at Calanta, and the woman sighs, rubs her face.</p>
<p>“He isn’t here,” she says. “Leave it.”</p>
<p>They do. They exit the room as well, and once again Jango finds himself alone.</p>
<p>“Keep searching. He’s still around here,” she tells them, and they nod and obey.</p>
<p>Calanta, however, stays where she is. She stares at Jango, her face blank, and he stares right back at her.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, Fett,” she finally says. He crosses his arms and doesn’t speak. He can feel the hard material of the detonator poking him under the left armpit.</p>
<p>“He is a Jedi,” she suddenly says. She keeps her yellow eyes on his face—Jango doesn’t let himself react. “Did you know that?”</p>
<p>Jango just stares at her. She scoffs, turns on her heel.</p>
<p>“Did you?”</p>
<p>She stops, but doesn’t turn away.</p>
<p>“I’m a professional, Fett,” she says. “What do you think?”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>After they leave, Jango closes the door to his room and puts his armour on. He moves the detonator to one of his kute’s hidden pockets, close to his chest, and then he waits. He hears when they finally find Kenobi, and then waits some more.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think about the jetii. Jango doesn’t think they’ll kill him—they still need to find the boy, and while there are other ways of finding him that have nothing to do with Kenobi, he’s the easiest.</p>
<p>Or so they'll think. Kenobi’s stubborn, and he’s smart—if he talks, and Jango very much doubts he will, it won’t be until he decides it’s time to do so.</p>
<p>A part of Jango can’t help but wonder if he isn’t maybe overestimating the man—but no. Jango’s good at reading people. He doesn’t think he knows Kenobi well—but he knows him well enough. Calanta is about to find herself with more than she can handle.</p>
<p>By the time Jango comes out of his quarters, the sun’s almost out, and the complex is quiet once again. He feels wired, alive. He has emptied the place, his half-fixed jetpack back on its rightful place at his back, and when he closes the door to the former barn it’s with the certainty that he will never in his life have to spend another night there.</p>
<p>Jango approaches the main building. Boba’s window is empty. He blinks on his buy’ce’s scanners, and for almost a minute Jango stays where he is, tracking the movements of the few guards that are still awake. After their victory, it seems however that Kawa has let them have a free night, and the complex is quiet.</p>
<p>That will make things easier.</p>
<p>He steps into the building and takes a right. Once he’s right in front of the stairs he stops. He frowns.</p>
<p>Jango unholsters his blaster, switches off the safety and keeps climbing.</p>
<p>He stops on the first floor and blinks his scanners on once again. Most of the rooms are full, their occupants asleep or halfway there. Jango tilts his head, and listens, and waits, for another minute. When he’s sure nobody knows he’s there, he keeps moving, his boots quiet over the floorboards.</p>
<p>Kawa’s room is the last to the right.</p>
<p>He sliced the lock weeks ago, and when he stops in front of the room, the door slides open on its own. The woman is lying on her bed, and the place stinks of spotchka and cheap beer and deathsticks. She is alone; her legs are too long for the small mattress, and her bare feet brush the floor.</p>
<p>For a while, Jango just stands there, watching her. The woman sleeps on.</p>
<p>There is a liquor bottle on the small table next to the door; Jango pushes it off the table. It tumbles past the edge and breaks in a thousand pieces with a crash against the floor. Kawa wakes up with a startle, her hand reaching under her pillow.</p>
<p>Jango lets her see him, and then raises his blaster and shoots her twice right between the eyes.</p>
<p>When he leaves, he doesn’t bother locking the door again.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Boba. Ad’ika, wake up.”</p>
<p>The boy blinks, still half-asleep under his borrowed blanket. The heating unit is on, but the room’s freezing cold.</p>
<p>“Bu?”</p>
<p>He sounds scared. Jango takes off his buy’ce, and then cradles Boba’s head with his gloved left hand.</p>
<p>“Bob’ika, look at me. Everything’s alright. We—we’re leaving.”</p>
<p>Boba blinks. He can’t have been asleep for long—Jango knows the party ended barely a couple hours ago: the noise would have kept him awake.</p>
<p>“Leaving where?”</p>
<p>“We’re going home, ad’ika.”</p>
<p>Boba just looks at him, uncomprehending. Jango sighs, touches his lips to Boba’s forehead—he’s too warm.</p>
<p>“It’s okay. Don’t move, alright? I’m going to take off the collar.”</p>
<p>Boba nods. He yawns, but he stays still while Jango pushes the button with a finger that wants to tremble. Something beeps softly, and one of the halves of the thing falls to the bed. Boba blinks, touches it with his hand, and then looks up, touches his own neck. Jango smiles at him, brushes his hair out of his face, and then takes off the other half. He leaves them there, on the mattress, along with the detonator.</p>
<p>He wants Calanta to see them after she finds the corpse.</p>
<p>“It’s gone?” Boba sounds awake but still so confused. “It’s really gone? We are really going home?”</p>
<p>Jango nods. He knows he’s smiling—when Boba hugs his neck, he hugs the boy back. He closes his eyes and he allows himself to breathe him in.</p>
<p>He is safe and he is free, and soon enough he—they—will be gone.</p>
<p>“Alright, let’s go.” Jango holds Boba in the crook of his left arm, and puts on his buy’ce with his free hand.</p>
<p>“Can we take Lali’s doll?”</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>“And what about her?”</p>
<p>Jango pauses half-way through the threshold. They need to hurry—someone will find the body soon. He keeps walking.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Can we take her?”</p>
<p>“Eul’alia is not a toy, Boba.”</p>
<p>“I know! She is <em>a person</em>,” Boba says. He is whispering, or trying to—Jango hasn’t had to tell him anything, he just knows. He doesn’t know whether he should feel proud or look for someone to kill. “But she doesn’t want to stay here.”</p>
<p>“We can’t, Boba.”</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t even know where to start.</p>
<p>“We can’t take her home with us,” he ends up saying. “Remember? Nobody can know about the eyayade.”</p>
<p>“But we can take her somewhere else! She is good, bu, she gave me things and she plays with me and when I was cold yesterday she even hugged me.”</p>
<p>Karking hell.</p>
<p>“If we see her, we’ll ask her,” Jango replies. “But we really must hurry, Boba. We can’t go looking for her.”</p>
<p>The boy stays quiet for a few seconds. Finally, he sighs. He sounds—well. Not heartbroken, just—sad, disappointed.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Boba says.</p>
<p>Sometimes it’s hard to remember he’s just five years old.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Their luck holds until they get outside. There were no guards in front of Boba’s room, and there are no guards in the rest of the building either—most of them are on the other side of the complex, closer to one of the old barns; Jango figures that’s where they must be keeping Kenobi.</p>
<p>Jango’s mind keeps returning to him, to the jetii. He <em>does</em> owe him—his life, yes, but also his son’s. The fact that he’s a Jedi, that <em>they</em> are Jedi, shouldn’t matter—a debt is a debt is a debt.</p>
<p>But oh, it does.</p>
<p>“Fett?”</p>
<p>Jango stops walking and turns around. Eul’alia is standing there, wide eyed and half-asleep. While he looks, her headwrap slips and curls around her neck. It’s obvious she just woke up.</p>
<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“Lali!” Boba tries to reach for her, but Jango holds him tighter and lets his hand drop to rest on the butt of his blaster. The Twi’lek, however, isn’t paying any attention to him—her eyes are fixed on Boba’s neck.</p>
<p>“It’s gone? How?” she asks. It’s not actually directed to him, to them—she is thinking out loud. When Jango doesn't answer, she blinks, shakes herself awake. She notices the gun, his posture, the way Boba’s looking at him; Jango watches while she understands. She frowns, and Jango sees her tense up, her fingers looking for something in the back of her belt.</p>
<p>“You can come, if you want,” Boba suddenly says. “We are leaving.”</p>
<p>His words make the tension pop—Eul’alia sighs, shakes her head and rubs her eyes. Jango keeps quiet—he already knows what she’s going to say.</p>
<p>“I can’t, Boba,” she finally says. “I—I can’t leave. Sorry.”</p>
<p>The boy frowns. “Why? You are old, you can go anywhere and do whatever you want.”</p>
<p>The woman laughs, hoarse but fond. “I know, love, but my place is here.”</p>
<p>“But you don’t like it here.”</p>
<p>She shrugs.</p>
<p>Jango intervenes. “We need to go,” he says, his eyes focused on the Twi’lek. She sighs, tugs off her headwrap and lets her lekku curl around her neck.</p>
<p>“If they ask,” she begins, “I didn’t see you.”</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“Why?”</p>
<p>“You are a dick but I like your kid,” she replies in Huttese. Jango snorts.</p>
<p>As far as reasons go, he finds he can believe that one to be true.</p>
<p>“Goodbye, Lali,” Boba says.</p>
<p>“Goodbye, kid.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The jetpack has just enough power for one short burst, and it gets them over the fence at the back. It isn’t elegant or comfortable for Jango, but he manages to not fall down on his face, Boba holding onto him like a monkey lizard. Jango takes half a second to reorient himself, and then he begins walking in the direction of the spaceport, cutting across the dead fields and the abandoned homes.</p>
<p>They’re close to the place where he and Kenobi fell through to the mines, to where the jetii and the cantina owner were hiding the kid.</p>
<p>“Bu? Where are we going?” They’re completely alone, but Boba keeps his voice low. The asteroid field shines bright up ahead, and to the east Jango can see the sun breaking over the horizon line. It’s cold, and it stinks, but Boba looks at everything with his eyes open wide, his hand in Jango’s and his steps careful after so long in that room.</p>
<p>The collar has left blisters, a patch of discolored skin and what appears to be a rash on his neck. Jango can barely see it thanks to his visor, but he knows that it’s there, and Boba keeps trying to scratch at it with his free hand, the motion practiced.</p>
<p>Jango stops walking. He looks in the direction of the spaceport, back to the low buildings to his right, and doesn’t answer.</p>
<p>A gun is a gun is a gun—but a debt is a debt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>warnings: no obi-wan pov here but that's because he's fucking dissociating like a motherfucker for like three days. also, the jango warning: he kills another person in cold blood with a shot to the head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>see you on thursday :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Debt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>one chapter and the epilogue left!!!!!! thank you all so much for reading!!</p>
<p>thanks to the maulrex server (and in this case pax specifically) for the mando'a help!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ground is cold and hard. Obi-Wan breathes in, breathes out, reaches out with his senses—and hits a wall. The Force suppression cuffs are tight around his wrists. He tries to roll his shoulders; he has been in his cell for less than an hour and they already hurt. Without the Force he can enjoy the undiluted weight of his exhaustion: his head hurts, and so do his ribs, his joints, his face when he was hit when they caught him. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan let them; if he had known about the cuffs, he would have fought harder. He can’t feel—anything. He can’t sense Anakin. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan had forgotten how awful and lonely and isolating it feels to be cut off from the Force. He catches himself reaching out again and again, trying and failing to find the familiar hum of life and thought around him.</p>
<p>He knows his shields are good enough, that they will hold, at least for a few days, but that’s a cold comfort. </p>
<p>They found him after he talked to Fett. Obi-Wan closes his eyes: he can still see it, see him: the small bed and the little sink, the armour leaning against next to the jetpack, the helmet on the floor next to the little cot where Fett slept. Fett had been dreaming when Obi-Wan dropped in, his sleep light and troubled: his back was to the wall, his face in shadows and his breathing deep and regular.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan still can’t believe the bounty hunter didn’t kill him—he risked a lot doing what he did, and Obi-Wan knows it’s one of the many things he will be questioned about if he ever gets back to Coruscant. Fett could have killed him—he could have done so much worse. </p>
<p>Qui-Gon would have said that he had trusted the Force and the Force had delivered. Qui-Gon, however, perished five years ago on Naboo, and Obi-Wan can’t—<em>won’t</em>, a little, sly voice says in his head—keep on acting as if his old master was still alive, or as if Qui-Gon had always been right.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan knows he isn’t as good a master as he should. He’s too young, he’s too insecure and too arrogant at the same time, he’s reckless and thoughtless and overemotional and his way of approaching problem resolution is simplistic at best and dangerous at worst. But there are things Qui-Gon did to him when Obi-Wan was his padawan that he himself can’t even bear to think about now—he can bear to imagine his own padawan going through them even less.</p>
<p>His mind has been running on circles for the past few hours. From the things he heard on that message, to what he helped bring down on Spadaro and his people, to those of them he killed or had killed, to what the Council will say when they learn of it all, to what Anakin will think of him, to his current situation, to his padawan’s. </p>
<p>Somehow Obi-Wan has managed to keep moving, keep acting, keep stalling. He found the detonator tucked away in the building’s main room, in a hollow piece of wood built into the long table. It had been well-hidden, and through means other than some imagination and the ingenious application of a small handsaw. Otherwise, Fett would have found it—of this, Obi-Wan has no doubt. FEtt’s one of the smartest and most dangerous men Obi-Wan has ever or will ever meet. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan should have asked him to get Anakin off Tchuta-1—but what does he actually know about the bounty hunter? Fett keeps his many secrets close to the chest, and he hates Jedi so much. Obi-Wan’s instincts tell him Anakin would have been safe with Fett, or at least safer than he’s now—but it would have been so easy for Fett to—to claim the bounty for himself, or use what he knows to lead Calanta to him.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s sure that the mission to Tchuta-1 was meant to be a trap for him—someone set him up, set the whole Jedi Order up, and they sprang the trap, and then Obi-Wan—and his lack of spine, his inability to enforce any kind of discipline on his padawan, his soft heart—got Anakin caught in it as well. Obi-Wan needs to get back to the Council just to tell them that, to let them know, to make sure that they’ll take the necessary steps to investigate whoever asked them to accept the mission. </p>
<p>They may expel him from the Order, but if they do, Obi-Wan will make sure his padawan is left in the best of hands—and that means actually finding whoever has been moving the strings behind this whole thing.</p>
<p>He can’t stop thinking about how many of the missions that have gone wrong in the past few years may have been like this one.</p>
<p>Because it isn’t just the mission—there is something else at large. Calanta may have been sent just to make sure he was killed, but she also helped orchestrate the whole conflict between Spadaro and Kawa. The woman has been on the moon for years, working quietly but effectively, undermining the former’s authority and bolstering the latter’s and pitting them against each other.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan tries to find a better position on the ground. The walls are dirty with something wispy and silvery. He thinks the place must have once held cattle, animals—it still smells warm and musky. He wonders about the owners of the farm, to the people who once inhabited the main building and slept in its rooms and worked the fields beyond the fence.</p>
<p>He remembers the creature from the mine, and grimaces. Obi-wan hopes that whoever planned the whole thing never learns about it. He would have died without Fett’s help—he’s sure of that. And Fett would have died without his. </p>
<p>Will Fett get out of the moon? Did he get his child out of that room? Obi-Wan hopes so. He wants something good to come out of this whole thing—he <em>needs </em>something good to come out of it. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan saw their faces, Spadaro’s and Lara’s and everyone else’s, when they found him up on that ridge next to Calanta and the rest of her men. The Twi’lek died fast, but the rest didn’t, and Obi-Wan could sense their betrayal, their hurt. And it shouldn’t matter this much to him—Obi-Wan knows he should have found another way to handle it, that a better Jedi would have known how to solve this without resorting to betrayal, but they were going to sell him and his padawan to someone else. </p>
<p>And that’s why he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t look further. And Obi-Wan has always known that he isn’t a kind man, that there is a part of him, detached and almost clinical, that’s capable of making that kind of decision with barely a blink.</p>
<p>He’s capable of acts of awful and effective ruthlessness—he has known this since he was Anakin’s age. And he may feel guilty and ashamed—more than a good Jedi should—but not as much as he thinks anyone else would.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan can’t help thinking that while it was a bad choice, there weren’t many others that were much better, and—well. </p>
<p>His plan is working. It worked. </p>
<p>And Obi-Wan has always enjoyed not being wrong.</p>
<p>He can’t move past that. He thinks he should be—punished, maybe even expelled from the Order, put on probation, something, for the things he has done here, even if compared to everything else that’s going on in the galaxy his betrayal is barely noticeable, and it was for a good reason.</p>
<p>But the thing is: it worked. It took care of one of the few things that are keeping them on this moon, and Obi-Wan helped Fett’s child, set him free. </p>
<p>His mind returns to Fett, to the way he looked at Obi-Wan when he gave him the detonator. He was—he looked strangely human and vulnerable and <em>approachable, </em>his voice still rough and his too-long hair falling in his eyes, his skin warm with sleep despite the cold inside his room. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan can’t figure him out. Fett’s dangerous and clever and ruthless and he kept Anakin’s location to himself—out of spite or maybe something else—and Obi-Wan wonders what he thinks of all this. Does Fett judge him? Does he think Obi-Wan is a coward for plotting to kill the people who considered him an ally? It’s hard to imagine Fett resorting to such a thing, to that kind of underhanded plan.</p>
<p>Fett plays the long game, but not like that. Or maybe he does—Obi-Wan has heard so many awful things about him. And he felt Fett’s hatred, back down in the mines, poisonous and cold.</p>
<p>And then there’s the boy. The kid; his son. Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt for a second that Fett would do anything for him, that he loves him furiously and thoughtlessly, without reserve. But there is something about Fett’s that makes Obi-Wan want to pay attention, to poke around—the Force, yes, but also his own instincts.</p>
<p>Why did Fett take the boy with him? Why were they on Tchuta-1? Where did he even come from? Obi-Wan studied Mandalore and its recent history as a padawan, but Fett’s role in it stopped on Galidraan. It’s been fifteen years since then, and Obi-Wan guesses that maybe it’d be possible to acquire a child somehow. But still: the child’s mere existence is a riddle, and Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to not poke at it.</p>
<p>His head hurts. Obi-Wan sighs and attempts to meditate. He had to use the Force to purge the alcohol from his body faster, and now he has to deal with a killing hangover without any kind of help. He feels queasy and achy and dehydrated, and he has a hell of a headache.</p>
<p>His thoughts move too fast. They fly from Anakin to Fett to himself and his role in Spadaro's people’s demise to Calanta and her mysterious employer. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan curses under his breath. He’s alone now, but he knows it won’t last—sooner rather than later Calanta will pay him a visit. And she doesn’t scare him. Obi-Wan’s faced Sith: a washed-up Force sensitive gun for hire is nothing next to the man he killed on Naboo, next to Fett or the monster in the mines or the many things, the many people, he has fought and survived in the past fifteen years.</p>
<p>But he has lost his biggest and main ally—and she’s clever, and patient. It won’t do to underestimate her. So he focuses and forces his mind to quiet down, and puts all his fears and his self-loathing and his anxiety aside, to deal with either later or never.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Calanta arrives along with two of her cronies soon after. She looks tired, haggard and too thin, but Obi-Wan thinks he can see something that may very well be satisfaction in the way she tilts her head at him, her hands hanging from her belt. She has got a blaster on one hip, something weird that he cannot quite recognise hanging from the other. It shines metallic and almost greasy in the dim light that filters through the holes in the roof.</p>
<p>She is accompanied by a big Quarren and an average looking human woman with a cybernetic eye that looks at least a couple generations too old. The woman goes back outside when Calanta tilts her head and closes the door behind her; the Quarren approaches Obi-Wan and makes him stand up. They lock something around the cuffs, a long wire, and then do something that tugs Obi-Wan’s wrists up, that unbalances him and painfully overstretches his shoulders. Something creaks menacingly over his head, and he stumbles.</p>
<p>So it’s going to be one of those talks.</p>
<p>“That’ll be unnecessary,” Obi-Wan tells Calanta. The woman doesn’t answer. She stays where she is, head tilted back and face blank.</p>
<p>The Quarren finishes doing whatever they were doing and retreats to stand at her back. They cross their arms and lean against the wall, the fingers of their big right hand brushing the butt of their blaster.</p>
<p>Calanta lets the silence stretch, dense and heavy like oil in water. Obi-Wan feels something brush against his mind, and he clamps down his shields—the woman snorts.</p>
<p>“I guess that I should tell you that if you tell me what I want to know, I will let you go,” Calanta says. “But we both know that’s a lie. You won’t tell me what I want to know, and I wouldn’t let you go if you did.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan looks at her. He can already hear the sound of the insects waking up on the dead fields outside. </p>
<p>“We seem to find ourselves at an impasse,” he replies. Calanta stares at him, unblinking, her face blank. Obi-Wan can sense the insidious brush of her mind like greasy fingers against sense of self. </p>
<p>If he wasn’t wearing the cuffs Obi-Wan would be able to beat her at her own game. </p>
<p>“No, we don’t,” she says.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.</p>
<p>“I will find the boy, with or without your help.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan scoffs disdainfully. The Quarren’s face tentacles twitch, and they take a step forward, but the woman doesn’t move. She scowls. </p>
<p>“We have been here for a week,” Obi-Wan says. He allows himself a half-smile. “I’d say your employer must not be very happy, whoever they are.”</p>
<p>Calanta doesn’t answer. She just looks at him, her scowl firmly in place but her gaze faraway. </p>
<p>“Finding him wasn’t my mission,” she says calmly. “It still isn’t.”</p>
<p>That’s bait—Obi-Wan sighs internally, and decides to bite.</p>
<p>“What’s your mission, then? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”</p>
<p>Calanta smiles, small and crooked and on the bitter side of smug.</p>
<p>“Securing this place,” she replies. “Thanks for that, by the way. You should ask my employer for half of my pay.”</p>
<p>“I will, once I find out who it is,” Obi-Wan says. The woman snorts inelegantly. She begins to laugh.</p>
<p>“You won’t,” Calanta says. “<em>I</em> don’t know who they are, and I’ve been doing this for longer than you’ve been alive, Jedi.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan nods his head, and suppresses a wince when the movement makes him sway. He has been hanging there for less than half an hour and his shoulders already feel like they are on fire. </p>
<p>“You may not have been able to find out who they are, but I am not you” he says. “You either didn’t look very hard, or you aren’t so good at this, for all of your experience.”</p>
<p>Calanta looks at him, half-smile firmly in place. She won’t let herself be baited—she’s too old.</p>
<p>“I looked,” she says after a beat. “I got close. Too close. They made sure I didn’t get closer.”</p>
<p>That’s troublesome. Almost as much as why the fuck she’s actually talking to him. Obi-Wan focuses, tries to guess if she is trying to slip through his shields, but without the Force he can’t be sure. </p>
<p>“You want to know why I’m telling you this,” she suddenly says. Obi-Wan freezes, and she barks out a laugh. “It’s because it doesn’t matter. Once I’m done here, I will return to your friend’s cantina, and he will tell me how to find the kid. I will send proof of your death to my employer, and afterwards I will leave this moon forever.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan clenches his teeth. Gonji. Kark, he had completely forgotten about the man. How is he so bad at this?</p>
<p>“What do you want with Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks her. “What do they want with him? He’s just a boy.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Calanta answers. </p>
<p>“Come on,” he wheedles. “As you just said, it doesn’t matter. You’ve caught me, and you’ll find him soon enough on your own.”</p>
<p>Calanta tilts her head.</p>
<p>“How does it make you feel the fact that, even if you escape this place along with the boy, even if he manages to smuggle himself out of here in a shuttle or convince someone to take him elsewhere, they will find him?” she says. “Because they will. They could have grabbed him at any time while you were in your temple, but they didn’t, because you were there. I’ve been here for years and I know that. This whole thing, the mess with the cannons and the shuttle and your mission—that was all for you. To make sure you wouldn’t be there anymore.”</p>
<p>Obi-Wan knows he’s staring. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but it can’t be pretty, because the woman snorts.</p>
<p>Her comm unit beeps, and Calanta frowns down at her arm. She looks at the Quarren at nods her chin in Obi-Wan’s direction.</p>
<p>“Something’s going on. Soften him up. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Calanta says, and then she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan looks at the Quarren, still reeling. They take something out of their belt—a baton. It extends with a click.</p>
<p>It’s the first time in many years Obi-Wan is forced to take a beating without being able to draw on the Force to sustain himself.</p>
<p>After the first half a dozen hits, he decides he isn’t a fan; afterwards, he’s too busy trying not to lose consciousness to decide anything at all.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The Ithorian doesn’t answer the door when Jango knocks. Jango knows he’s there—he saw movement through the window when he was approaching the house with Boba, and his heat sensors can see the Ithorian, a big mountain of a man tucked in the back of the building.</p>
<p>Jango knocks again, this time louder, and then turns to keep an eye on Boba. His son has let go of Jango’s hand and is poking at something a few meters to his left. He’s trying to lift up a rock almost as big as he is; they’ve been out of the complex for barely an hour and he is already pale with dust and sticky. </p>
<p>Jango lets him be and knocks again. He wonders if he should yell; maybe he should just bypass the door, try and force open the lock. It doesn’t look too complicated—he probably wouldn’t even need to use one of his tools. </p>
<p>“Bu,” Boba says. Jango sighs, and then takes off his buy’ce, rubs his sweaty hair with a gloved hand and turns to his son. He knows that tone of voice. “I need to pee.”</p>
<p>Jango closes his eyes for a beat. He looks around—they are in the middle of nowhere. He tucks his buy’ce under his left elbow and approaches Boba.</p>
<p>“Can you hold it in for a bit?” Jango asks him. He knows it’ll be for nothing, but he has to try.</p>
<p>Boba blinks up at him. He’s doing that thing he does when he’s very close to having an “accident” but he wants to act as if everything is fine: he holds himself very, very still and locks his knees.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he lies. Jango rubs his face. He stretches out his free hand; Boba grabs it.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he says. “Okay, lets—“</p>
<p>The door creaks open at his back. Jango turns on his heel, pushing Boba behind him and putting his buy’ce in the same motion. </p>
<p>The Ithorian raises his hands. He looks at them from his open door, blinking under the early morning sun. </p>
<p>Jango stares at the Ithorian. The man clicks on his translator.</p>
<p>“He can use my fresher,” he says. </p>
<p>Jango blinks.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Boba tells Jango he can go to the ‘fresher alone. Jango looks at him, and then looks at the Ithorian. He knows nobody else is in the house with him—he checked. He’s more worried about the state of the man’s ‘fresher, but then Gonji shrugs, and Jango turns to his son and nods.</p>
<p>Jango listens to Boba’s fast steps disappear down the hallway, and then turns to look at the cantina owner. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” Jango says, perfectly aware that he sounds wooden and awkward and unsure of what to do about it. </p>
<p>“Don’t mention it,” Gonji says. “The least I could do after you tried to tear down my house.”</p>
<p>Jango nods his head. He isn’t wearing his buy’ce, as a sign of—respect, maybe. He knows very well how most sentients in the galaxy feel about beskar’gam: he knows that most of them find the sight of the organic faces and bodies they hide more reassuring than the front plate of a buy’ce.</p>
<p>The Ithorian looks at him. He’s anxious: he’s clenching and unclenching his huge fists, and he looms over Jango, his long head swinging slightly. Jango wonders why he opened the door, if Gonji’s so scared of him—it can’t have been just because of Boba.</p>
<p>The silence is very awkward. Jango looks around himself. The room he is in is very probably the man’s living room, and it’s cosy and clean despite the fact that, from the outside, the house looks like a wreck. But no—it’s old and beat-up, yes, but it’s obvious that the man has spent a lot of time and effort into making his home a nice place to live in. </p>
<p>Jango eyes the Ithorian. He thinks he lives alone—if he’s hiding the boy, it isn’t here: Gonji must be keeping him somewhere else.</p>
<p>“They’ve caught the Jedi,” Jango finally says. He watches the way Gonji tenses up on the window. “Because you knew he was a Jedi, didn’t you.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” the Ithorian replies after a beat. His translator turns his voice into something impersonal, but Jango can see his fear and anxiety in the man’s straightening spine. That’s the thing about Ithorians—one of their stress responses is making themselves bigger, more imposing. “How did they—“</p>
<p>The man stops. Jango doesn’t answer immediately—he actually doesn’t know. He thinks he does, and he thinks he’s right, but he isn’t sure. </p>
<p>But he doesn’t think Gonji needs to know, anyway.</p>
<p>“I can get the boy out of here,” he says. “If you tell me where he is, I will. They’ll be too busy dealing with the Jedi to worry about me.”</p>
<p>“But Kawa—“</p>
<p>“Kawa isn’t a problem anymore. And Calanta doesn’t give a shit about me.”</p>
<p>The Ithorian stares at him in silence for a long minute. </p>
<p>“What’s in it for you?” he finally asks. “You’ve been trying to kill Ben for weeks now.”</p>
<p>“I owe him a debt,” Jango replies.</p>
<p>Jango feels a sudden pang of fear. Where’s Boba? He tenses up, and he turns to look at the door his son disappeared through a few minutes ago. </p>
<p>“Excuse me,” he says, and crosses the room in two long steps. “Boba? Is everything alright?”</p>
<p>He can feel Gonji’s eyes on his back, but Jango doesn’t turn to look at him.</p>
<p>“... yes?”</p>
<p>Jango closes his eyes for a second. He glances back at the Ithorian—the man’s looking at him strangely, but Jango doesn’t bother trying to understand what it means. </p>
<p>“Whatever he has broken, I will pay,” he says. Gonji blinks his big eyes once, twice.</p>
<p>“... it’s alright,” he answers after a beat. “He’s just—he looks very young?”</p>
<p>Jango snorts. “Oh, he is, but he also likes poking around where he shouldn’t,” Jango says. He changes to Mando’a. “Bob’ika, do you need help?”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>Jango rubs his face. </p>
<p>“I can take you to the boy,” the Ithorian suddenly says. “But I don’t think he’ll leave with you.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Gonji takes them to the jetii’ad’s hiding place in his speeder. The vehicle is old, gross and noisy—it’s also painted a rusty red, and that means Boba falls in love with it immediately. He whines until Jango agrees to sit in the bed of the truck with him, and they spend the short trip being rattled half to death, the sun up ahead beating down on them. </p>
<p>The boy looks around himself with wide eyes, his head on a swivel and his hands white-knuckled where he’s holding on to the wall of the vehicle. It stinks of garbage and something Jango suspects might be old spice. The smell makes him half-sick with something that has very little to do with the actual substance, and he ends up putting his buy’ce back on and activating the air filters. </p>
<p>Boba doesn’t notice. He’s free, and he’s with his buir—for him, everything that’s happened today’s a big adventure. He isn’t scared: he’s having the time of his life. </p>
<p>Jango suspects that it won’t last—kids are resilient, but what his son has been put through will probably take longer than a day and a few hours walking around in the sun to fade away. He remembers Kawa’s shocked face, the final jerk of her body when it shut off; it was too fast, too easy. He wishes he had had the time to make her pay for everything she put Boba through.</p>
<p>But it had to be quick and clean and noiseless. And Zabraks are notoriously hard to kill—Jango had to get her in the head, in the brain: anywhere else and she would have lived long enough to complicate things. </p>
<p>The speeder stops in front of yet another abandoned building. This one’s smaller, not as well-kept or well-protected as the big complex where Jango first found the boy, but without Gonji’s help, he wouldn’t have been able to find it as quickly. It’s surrounded by overgrown fields, and when Jango blinks his sensors on, he can detect a heat signature inside the house.</p>
<p>Gonji exits the vehicle first, and then Jango jumps from the bed of the truck without waiting for him to lower the ramp and catches Boba when his kid tries to imitate him. Jango sets him on the ground, takes off his buy’ce, and kneels so that he can look Boba in the face.</p>
<p>“I want you to stay behind me or behind Gonji, if I have to go in alone,” he tells Boba in Mando’a. Boba looks at him, his eyes wide and his face very serious, and nods once. “No exploring. No touching things.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>“Repeat what I just said, please, ad’ika.”</p>
<p>“I can’t move or play and have to stay with you or with Gonji if you have to fight,” Boba says, his eyes dark and huge. </p>
<p>“Very good, verd’ika,” Jango says. He sighs, brushes Boba’s curls from his face. “Don’t be worried. It’s just in case this person we are meeting gets scared. He’s just a kid.”</p>
<p>“Like me?”</p>
<p>“A bit bigger. And older.”</p>
<p>“Ah,” Boba replies—he sounds absolutely crestfallen. Not for the first time, it occurs to Jango that he may be lonely; that’s the reason Jango used to let him play with the older batches. But they’re so much bigger than Boba, and—well. Boba’s probably tired of being told he isn’t allowed to play with the older children anymore. “Where’s his buir?”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t have a buir,” Jango replies. “We are going to get him home.”</p>
<p>“Home? With us?”</p>
<p>“No, Bob’ika. Somewhere else. Stay here, alright?”</p>
<p>Boba nods. Jango leans his forehead against his son’s for an instant and then stands up and puts on his buy’ce. He turns to look at the Ithorian. Gonji’s staring at Jango, his hands resting on his belt. He clicks on his translator. </p>
<p>“I will knock,” Gonji says. “Better you stay behind me until I can calm the boy down.”</p>
<p>“He will already know we are here,” Jango replies. He turns to look at the building, and raises his voice. “Kid! Come out!”</p>
<p>For a beat, nobody answers. Then, the door opens, and the boy Jango saw with Kenobi appears on the other side. He is holding his sword in his right hand, the blue blade crackling and turning the sand on the ground into glass, and despite the impressive scowl on his face, Jango can almost taste his anxiety. </p>
<p>He’s really very young—he’s tall, will very probably grow to be even taller, but he’s too thin, too pale. His clothes are dirty and his feet are bare. </p>
<p>Boba gasps at his back, no doubt impressed by the lightsaber, and the boy finds him with his eyes. He tilts his head, confused.</p>
<p>It lasts barely a second. Soon enough his eyes return to Jango, and he falls into a stance that by now is almost familiar, the blue blade closer to his face.</p>
<p>“Where is Obi-Wan?” the boy asks. He’s trying to sound older, more mature, but his voice breaks on his master’s name. Jango takes a step in his direction, hands up and stance relaxed. “What do you want with me?”</p>
<p>Jango remembers then the connection he and Kenobi supposedly share—the boy must know that something has happened to his master, and as long as the man’s abilities aren’t  suppressed they’ll probably stay in contact.</p>
<p>If Calanta knew Kenobi was a Jedi from the start, she’ll have taken precautions. Jango remembers the slugthrower, the way she looked at him, Kenobi’s certainty about her status as a Force sensitive, and somehow he doubts she’ll have failed to take something like that into account.</p>
<p>“He has been caught,” Jango explains. The boy’s eyes widen, and he drops his blade. “He’s alive, but they know what you two are. I’m here to get you out of here and back to the Core.”</p>
<p>“What? No. No—no, I need to go and rescue Obi-Wan. He needs me!”</p>
<p>“Anakin—“ begins the Ithorian. The boy turns to look at him.</p>
<p>“No! Shut up!” he looks at Jango, raises his sword again. “You are lying. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let himself get caught. He’s too good, he’s the best there is. What have you done with him?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t done anything to him,” Jango replies. After a second of doubt, he reaches for his buy’e and takes it off. “I’m not lying. You know I’m not.”</p>
<p>The boy looks at him. He doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“No,” he repeats. Gonji makes as if to approach him, and he turns to the man, teeth bared. He’s scared, and anxious, and he’s just a child, but Jango has seen what those swords can do, and he’s clearly trained. “No. You are lying.”</p>
<p>“Kid—“ Jango begins, trying to hold onto his patience. He sees Boba peeking around him, and he stretches an arm, but the boy doesn’t move any further.</p>
<p>“My buir is not a liar,” Boba tells the teenager, his high voice dissonant in the quiet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teenager freezes, frowns, clearly confused. </p>
<p>“What? Is that—is that your kid?” he lowers his weapon once again, and from the corner of his eye Jango watches Gonji relax and breathe out. The poor man’s trembling. </p>
<p>“Yes, he is,” Jango tells him. “Your master helped me free him. And now we need to leave.”</p>
<p>For a beat, the teenager just looks at him. Finally, he switches off his weapon and exits the house completely, approaches Jango, his bare feet soundless over the packed earth. He’s shivery  and wild-eyed, and he stands close enough to speak without yelling, but far enough Jango wouldn’t be able to grab him if he tried.</p>
<p>Jango keeps his face blank, but he can’t help but take note of that—he should be too young to have developed those instincts, especially if he has been raised in the jetiise’s fancy Coruscant temple. </p>
<p>“I—I cannot leave,” the boy says. “He’s my master, I’m supposed to help him and—and guard his back. Where is he? Is he alright? I felt something happen but—I can’t sense him properly anymore.”</p>
<p>His voice breaks again when he finishes talking. He stands there, blinking under the sun, trying not to cry. He doesn’t look like a jetii—he’s just a teenager, overwhelmed and scared. Jango sighs, rubs at his face, and feels Boba lean on his leg, both looking for comfort and out of curiosity: he’s scared but he also wants to be able to see the teenager better. </p>
<p>The boy breathes in, breathes out, and his face clears.</p>
<p>“Did he ask you to get me out of here? Take me back to Coruscant?”</p>
<p>Jango shakes his head. “He didn’t.”</p>
<p>Jango knows the Ithorian’s watching him, but he ignores the man. He focuses on the jetii’ikad. The boy looks at him, his eyes half-closed under the white glare of the sun. Now that he isn’t yelling or swinging that sword of his like a maniac, Jango notices something: he’s clever. He’s still young, too young, and clearly reckless: but he’s smart. He has a good teacher, and sooner rather than later he’ll be dangerous, as dangerous as his master.</p>
<p>Jango thinks of his eyayade, remembers Tyrannus’s promise and Galidraan, and then promptly puts them out of his mind. </p>
<p>“I’m not leaving,” the teenager tells Jango, his voice young but certain. He looks at Boba, cocks his head. “What happened? Is that your son? He told me they had him.”</p>
<p>Jango wonders what else Kenobi told his apprentice. He nods, and feels Boba hold onto his kute tighter. Jango rests a gloved hand on his son’s head. He owes Kenobi, that’s true—but he tried getting his kid out of the moon and the boy won’t leave. Jango should let the kid be and begin walking in the direction of the spaceport. They’ll have found Kawa’s body by now.</p>
<p>“Hello,” he hears Boba say. “I’m Boba.”</p>
<p>The teenager blinks. Suddenly, he looks very uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“Um. Hi. I’m Anakin.”</p>
<p>Jango hears Gonji sigh, and then the Ithorian approaches them. He clicks on his translator.</p>
<p>“We can talk about this out of the sun,” he says, and well. They are not exactly talking about anything, but he isn’t wrong, either.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The kid has only been there for a couple days at most, but the little room where he has been staying already looks like a disaster zone. There is a familiar blanket and mattress lying on a corner next to a crate half-full of ration packs and water bottles, a little heating unit. It smells moldy, of dust and something sweet like rot, and the place is empty of furniture. It once must have been a little house, barely big enough for a small family. There’s a tiny bedroom, unused, a fresher with running water, and a door that won’t open.</p>
<p>“Through there’s the kitchen. I locked the door because it stinks, and there was a huge nest in the conservator,” the boy explains. He is twitchy, always fiddling with something—he’s full of nervous energy. He moves like Kenobi, with the same self-assured grace, but beyond that they are completely different. Where Kenobi is all still calm and good humour—at least until he opens his mouth—his apprentice watches Jango without looking directly at him, always from the corner of his eye, and he always seems half a second from bolting or going for his sword.</p>
<p>It’s a familiar reaction, but not one Jango would expect from a freeborn jetii kid raised on the Coruscant Temple, although it’s true that the boy doesn’t sound like Kenobi at all.</p>
<p>It’s extremely hot inside. Jango can feel the warm, dry air on the skin of his face, and Boba’s already sweating, his too-long curls frizzy. He looks around with curious eyes, but he hasn’t moved from Jango’s side, his small hand tucked into his belt. </p>
<p>“Why are there so many parts?” he whispers in Mando’a.</p>
<p>It’s a good question. Next to the little cot where the boy sleeps there is another box, this one smaller. It’s full of droid parts, and in front of it, on the floor, Jango can see a half-fixed engine. There are half a dozen of what appear to be finished projects lining the wall closest to the door, and Jango can’t help but raise an eyebrow, admired despite himself. He knew the kid was good with machines, but not that he’d be that good.</p>
<p>The boy catches them looking and hunches his shoulders. He eyes Gonji.</p>
<p>“I’m almost done with that,” he says, pointing at the engine. “Sorry. I’ll try to fix it later.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, kid,” the Ithorian says. He’s so big his long head scratches the ceiling of the house. He sits on the floor with a huff. “You’ve done more than enough.”</p>
<p>The boy frowns but keeps quiet. He keeps eyeing Jango and his armour. It’s obvious he finds Boba’s presence reassuring, but not enough to allow for him to relax. </p>
<p>Clever kid. Once again, Jango wonders where the hell they found him. It’s true Jango hasn’t actually met that many jetiise, but the kid doesn’t even <em>feel</em> like one. </p>
<p>It’s not just that he’s too scared—it’s more that he looks like he knows exactly what he should be scared of.</p>
<p>After a bit, Jango decides to sit down on the floor on the other side of the room, his back against the wall. Boba leans on his shoulder, but he’s beginning to get antsy and distracted: there are too many new and interesting things in the room. Jango eyes the boy, then the Ithorian, and decides to take a risk.</p>
<p>“Bob’ika, it’s alright,” he says in Basic. His son looks at him, and then cautiously approaches the box. The teenager tenses up. </p>
<p>“Don’t touch anything,” he tells him. He eyes Jango, a flash of dark blue, and then turns back to the kid. “Please.”</p>
<p>“I won’t!” Boba replies, petulant. “I just wanna look.”</p>
<p>The teenager looks at Jango again. He shrugs, affecting calm, his buy’ce in his lap. </p>
<p>The boy closes his eyes for a beat, and then he crosses his arms. </p>
<p>“I’m not leaving without Obi-Wan,” he says. “What happened? How did they catch him?”</p>
<p>Jango can hear the unasked question: Why did he let himself get caught?</p>
<p>He doesn’t know. He suspects, but he doesn’t know Kenobi well enough to guess at a real answer. The man probably thought he’d be able to get himself out of whatever situation he got himself into, and that meanwhile he’d be able to stall for time and plan his next move. </p>
<p>Either that or he thought it would force Jango to take a side—and that he planned it like that. Plans within plans, Jango reminds himself. Kenobi doesn’t ever do anything for just one reason; maybe he let himself be caught, and if he did—well. He doesn’t have the time to find out how the jetii’s mind works. </p>
<p>“I didn’t see it,” Jango replies. The boy scowls. “But I heard them catch him.”</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you help him, then?” the boy asks him angrily. Boba eyes him and freezes; the teenager doesn’t notice, and he takes a step in Jango’s direction. “You could have! And you owe him.”</p>
<p>Jango watches him in silence for a while. </p>
<p>“He wouldn’t want me to,” he finally says. It isn’t a lie. He was too focused on getting Boba and killing Kawa and getting back to his ship to leave the moon forever. </p>
<p>The apprentice scoffs, but he doesn’t try to deny it. He shrugs.</p>
<p>“You should have tried anyway,” he says accusingly. He takes another step towards Jango. It brings him closer than he was to Boba, and the child recoils, runs back to Jango. He feels himself tense up. His hand drops to his gun, the motion thoughtless, his son under his free arm. </p>
<p>“Anakin,” the Ithorian’s deep mechanical voice sounds too loud in the sudden silence. “Calm down. Even if he had tried, it would have been for nothing.”</p>
<p>The teenager scowls and drops his gaze, guilt and fear and fury warring on his face. Boba stares at him, his dark eyes too wide, too knowing.</p>
<p>Anakin rubs at his face, at his hair. He closes his eyes, breathes in and then breathes out. </p>
<p>“Maybe,” he finally says. He opens his eyes and turns to look at Jango, at Boba where he’s kneeling on the floor and holding onto him. Something complicated and too quick to be legible flashes through his face, and he seems to deflate. “I’m—I don’t know what to do. I’m just—but I’m not leaving.”</p>
<p>The Ithorian sighs, and his translator’s speakers whistle and crackle. He stands up. His back faces Jango, and Ithorians are hard to read, but he’d swear Gonji is terrified.</p>
<p>“I need to go back to the town and find out what’s going to happen from now on with—well. Everything,” Gonji says. He moves so that he can see Jango as well, and continues, his big hands clenching and unclenching. Boba relaxes once again and sits down on the floor. “I will go to the complex when night falls. I have some stuff from—from them left. Maybe Kawa’ll be interested.”</p>
<p>Jango snorts, and Gonji turns to look at him.</p>
<p>“She won’t,” Jango says. He feels the apprentice’s—Anakin’s?—eyes on him as well. “She’s dead.”</p>
<p>For a beat, they just look at him, and then Gonji huffs.</p>
<p>“Well,” he begins. “Well. Can’t say anyone will miss her.”</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Everything hurts.</p>
<p>By now, Obi-Wan should be used to the feeling. In the past few days, he has been punched, shot at, stabbed, and cut. He’s had bones broken and he has sprained joints and he’s fallen from great heights and had to deal with concussions, hunger and thirst. </p>
<p>The main difference, however, is that back then he could lean on the Force—with barely a thought he could reach for it, and he had the surety that it would sustain him even if his body was close to failing him forever.</p>
<p>But he can’t now—they have made sure of it.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan’s no longer hanging from his wrists, at least. He’s on the dirty floor, his face swollen and hot where it touches the ground. He hasn’t been given anything to eat or drink in hours, and it makes the painful haze he’s drowning in worse. He feels his brain failing, pain and lack of water and nutrition making it stutter and doubt itself—his shields are still holding, but they won’t last.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know why Calanta hasn’t come back yet. He’ tried to ask the guard that’s waiting on the other side of his makeshift cell’s door, but the Rodian won’t say a word. But it’s quiet—too quiet. And his guard is so anxious Obi-Wan doesn’t need the Force to tell him so. He feels blind and deaf without it, cut off from the world, but that doesn’t mean he actually is.</p>
<p>He has to remember that—he’s still a Jedi.</p>
<p>They may have discovered that Fett’s gone—Obi-Wan doesn’t doubt for a second the man’s no longer there. He has probably also left Tchuta-1 with his son, with Boba.</p>
<p>It’s too soon for them to have found Anakin, however—maybe something else is going on, something that doesn’t have anything to do with Fett or with Anakin. It’d be just his luck: maybe the Hutts are back, or there’s been an earthquake, or one of the things from the mines has escaped, or whoever told Kawa to find Anakin has arrived on Tchuta-1.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan sighs. He blinks, trying to clear his eyes of blood and sweat. He doesn’t think anything’s broken, at least—he’s just bruised and hurting and exhausted. That giant of a Quarren did their job admirably; in another life, they could have been an amazing physical therapist.</p>
<p>He makes himself laugh, hoarse and just loud enough for it to be heard, and it jostles something inside him that soon enough turns the laughter into a groan of pain. The Rodian on the other side of the door kicks the wood once, twice, and Obi-Wan falls quiet with a wheeze that turns into a dry cough.</p>
<p>He needs to get out of there. With a grunt, he heaves himself to his knees. It’s very warm inside his makeshift cell—the sun paints pale stripes on the dirt under him, and he feels overwarm and sluggish: this particular area of Tchuta-I is so dry he isn’t even sweating. </p>
<p>The place must have been once a kind of silo, to store grain or animal feed, and its ceiling arches high over his head. Metal beams crisscross over his head, and over them he can see a patch of blue sky, the roof missing in places. Obi-Wan makes himself stand up—the world wobbles, and he loses his balance and drops to his right knee. The hit rattles his whole body, and dull pain radiates from the joint. Obi-Wan blinks, swallows down bile and blood, and licks his lips, cracked and dry. He tries again, and this time braces for the nausea he knows it’s coming, and manages to stay on his feet. </p>
<p>He’s shivering, and he’s been in enough fights in his depressingly short life to know that’s a bad sign, but he puts it out of his mind. He keeps reaching out for the Force and coming up empty, the familiar hum of life and thought and death always lingering just beyond his fingertips. He clenches his fists, feels the metal from the cuffs cut into his wrists, and then breathes out. He blinks, and looks around himself. </p>
<p>The silo’s walls appear to be made from some plasteel alloy, and the material shines deathly white under the peeling paint that once covered them. Obi-Wan blinks. He focuses, breathes in, breathes out, tries to relax his joints, and then lies back down on the floor and manages to twist his limbs until his wrists rests against his stomach. </p>
<p>He almost passes out from the effort, but after a few long minutes he manages to stand up once again. He approaches one of the walls and begins making a circuit of the silo. There must be something, he thinks, his thoughts slow and his mouth bone dry. </p>
<p>He finds the ladder built into the wall on his second round. Obi-Wan bumps against one of the rungs, and he stops for a beat, confused. He looks up and—yes. It’s still there, and it’s whole—the only reason he hadn’t seen it before is because of the lack of light. There is a kind of door up there, he thinks.</p>
<p>It might not open, but—well. It’s not like he has other options. Obi-Wan sighs, and then sits down to wait for his chance.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>It comes some time later. Obi-Wan blinks his eyes open, unaware of how long he has been waiting, half-sure he must have fallen asleep. He curses under his breath and then shuts his mouth again, trying to find out what woke him up. It must be close to noon—the inside of the silo is unbearably hot.</p>
<p>He can hear voices. There’s someone talking, and then he hears the familiar hum of a speeder’s engine. Someone just arrived, he thinks—he approaches the door and tilts his head, but he can’t tell who it is, or what they want.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan moves back to the ladder. He won’t find a better chance: whatever has captured Calanta’s attention won’t last, and he still hasn’t seen Kawa, but he doubts the Zabrak will stay away forever.</p>
<p>He looks up and frowns. He can see what must be a kind of door a few meters over his head. There is a handle, and it doesn’t appear to be locked from the inside. There is a latch, and while it looks rusty, he should be able to force it open. Obi-Wan swallows—he isn’t usually scared of heights, but it is quite tall, and if he falls he won’t be able to use the Force to cushion the hit.</p>
<p>“So don’t fall, idiot,” he tells himself under his breath, and then grimaces. His voice sounds awful. </p>
<p>He clenches and unclenches his fingers and rotates his hurt shoulders, and then looks up—it’s a bit over three or two meters high, he thinks. </p>
<p>With a last sigh, Obi-Wan grabs the closest rung of the ladder with his tied hands and begins heaving himself up.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how long it takes him, but by the time he falls on the hard-packed earth that surrounds the silo, out of breath and shivery, the sun’s still up in the sky, white and harsh on the blue. </p>
<p>Luckily, there’s no one around, and after a few precious seconds Obi-Wan manages to crawl to his knees, his bloody fingers already caked in white dust. He’s facing the back of the complex—between the gaps in the metal fence that surrounds the property he can see the fields, the blue peaks of the sierra, the profile of the spaceport. The sun hits down on his head, and Obi-Wan blinks sweat from his eyes. His head hurts so much he can barely think straight, and when he tries to stand up he blacks out for an instant, black clouds swallowing his view.</p>
<p>Obi-WAn curses. He can’t stay there. He rattles the cuffs, frustrated, and then forces himself to calm down and think—he can’t afford to get angry, to lose his nerve. </p>
<p>He begins crawling, keeping low and close to the shadow of the main building. There’s no one around, but he can hear voices coming from the house, from the front of the complex. He needs to find a way to get out of there that doesn’t make use of the front side of the farm, and soon. </p>
<p>There was a hole in the fence close to the corner where Fett used to take his son to play, but knowing Obi-Wan’s luck it’ll have been fixed, or too small for him. Obi-Wan begins crawling in that direction, his elbows, his knees and the insides of his arms burning with pain and the sun beating down hot on his head. His mind keeps drifting away, and now and then he has to stop, out of breath and so dizzy with nausea he has to swallow bile. He can hear himself breathing, and the noise drowns everything else but the buzzing of the insects, so loud it feels like they’re inside his head, in his brain.</p>
<p>Jedi aren’t supposed to hate, but Obi-Wan thinks that he may be allowed to make an exception for Tchuta-1. If he never in his life has to return to this place he’ll die happy.</p>
<p>The metal from the cuffs feels blood-warm against his wrists, and he can feel the skin underneath blister and break. They’ll leave scars—but what’s one more.</p>
<p>He blinks. There are footsteps rounding the corner at his back, from the direction of the silo he just left, the door he dropped from still open and swinging in the hot air. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan curses and looks around himself. The farm’s main building was built upon a raised platform—he makes himself roll to the right and right under the crawlspace. He blinks in the sudden darkness, and watches while two pairs of boots appear to his left, their voices loud enough he feels as if he were walking right behind them. They haven’t noticed the empty door to the silo, but he’s sure they’ll do sooner than later.</p>
<p>They don’t see him—they’re too busy arguing between themselves, their voices full of tension. Obi-Wan tilts his head and listens: when he hears about Kawa’s death he blinks, but he finds he’s not really surprised.</p>
<p>He isn’t shocked either by the news of Fett’s disappearance along with his son. Of course that’s what the Mandalorian had done, he thinks—Obi-Wan gave him the key, and he used it to free himself and then his family. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan can’t find it in himself to feel guilty about the way Fett has chosen to go about it, either—he doesn’t condone murder on principle, but he’s found that sometimes the only way forward is also the bloodiest.</p>
<p>Kawa’s death has left her people shaken. Calanta has taken control of the settlement, of course, and most of them seem happy to go along with whatever she chooses to do—but they <em>did</em> like Kawa, and while they respect Calanta, Obi-Wan isn’t surprised to find she also terrifies them.</p>
<p>Most of them seem to know that there’s something about her that isn’t quite normal, quite Human—they’ll follow her, but Obi-Wan expects a lot of sudden disappearances in the coming few weeks.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan doesn't know what he'll do if he manages to find a way to escape the complex and reunite with Anakin. After all, Calanta still controls the spaceport and its control room.</p>
<p>As soon as their shuttle lifts off, she’ll have them shot out of the sky again, or worse.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan scowls. Something drops from the floorboards above his head and slides down his neck, and he shivers at the feeling of its many legs scurrying down his shoulder, under his shirt. He doesn’t know what it is—Obi-Wan keeps still, and tries not to think about it: the last thing he needs is to have to deal with a poisonous bite. The crawlspace under the house smells of rhydonium and dust, like everything else on the moon, with a hint of something that very probably is sewage. </p>
<p>Anaphylactic shock <em>and</em> an infection. That’s what he’s risking by hiding there.</p>
<p>The two beings keep talking between themselves, and Obi-Wan keeps up with them until they disappear around the corner. He waits there for a minute, counting down the seconds, and then crawls from under the house. </p>
<p>For a beat, Obi-Wan just breathes and blinks under the sun while his eyes get used once again to the light. Then he heaves himself to his knees and scans the area around him, his head pounding. </p>
<p>He’s already close to the place where Fett used to take his son. The fence that surrounds the complex makes an angle, and there are a couple or garbage bins and an old tree, twisted and half-dead. There’s a tooka on one of its branches, the widest one, a thin, starved beast with matted white and blue fur. </p>
<p>It stares at Obi-Wan; he looks back. The animal folds its ears back, its tail swinging full of threat, but it seems content to watch and asses, and Obi-Wan relaxes. </p>
<p>Obi-Wan makes himself stand up and approaches the corner of the building, and then leans around it. From there he can see the front gate. It’s open and surrounded by what appears to be half of the inhabitants of the complex. They’re swarming a familiar-looking speeder truck, and Obi-Wan blinks, bemused, when he recognises Gonji’s long face floating over everyone else’s heads.</p>
<p>What is he doing there? He seems to be arguing with someone—suddenly he raises his arms, like he’s given up, and jumps back into his vehicle. </p>
<p>Later, he’ll be sure it was fate, or the Force, or a weird, uncanny mix of the two—Obi-Wan doesn’t believe in luck, he never has. But Gonji gets on his speeder, and then he looks towards the place where Obi-Wan is waiting, half-hidden behind the corner. And Gonji sees him, and freezes, his hands on the controls of the speeder.</p>
<p>It lasts barely a second: they stare at each other, and then the Ithorian looks away, turns on the vehicle, and Obi-Wan turns away and hides back behind the corner. When he turns to look at the fence, he catches the end of the tail of the tooka as it disappears through the hole in the fence.</p>
<p>Obi-Wan blinks. He can’t believe what he’s just seen. He hears footsteps approaching, and he half-runs, half-limps towards the fence as well, his chest full of something that may be hope. </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“Okay,” Boba is saying. “And what’s this?”</p>
<p>The teenager—Anakin Skywalker, fourteen, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi’s padawan and as awkward as Jango remembers once feeling—doesn’t roll his eyes, but something tells the bounty hunter that he’d really like to. </p>
<p>But he knows Jango’s watching, and he’s reckless, but he isn’t dumb.</p>
<p>“That’s for the servo,” Skywalker answers shortly. He’s sitting on the floor, a half-fixed cleaning droid in his lap. </p>
<p>“What’s a servo?” Boba asks. He’s next to the teenager, as close as he dares. He’s been slowly reducing that distance for the past few hours. Jango knows Boba notices the teenager’s tone—he just doesn’t care. His son has the enviable ability to just barrel through any and all impediments when he’s interested in something.</p>
<p>And for whatever reason, what Boba’s interested at the moment is the droid the teenager’s trying to fix.</p>
<p>Skywalker huffs, impatient. “A servo is a servo,” he says. </p>
<p>“But what’s it <em>for</em>?”</p>
<p>Skywalker pauses. He eyes Jango where he’s sitting leaning against the wall, and the door, and then looks back at his droid.</p>
<p>“It depends,” he finally answers. “It’s just—I need to fix this. Can you shut—can you be quiet? Please?”</p>
<p>Boba sighs, dramatic. “Okay,” he says. </p>
<p>Skywalker focuses back on his project. Boba glances back at Jango from under his hair and scoots slightly closer. </p>
<p>Jango doesn’t laugh, even though he’d like to—Boba isn’t so much asking for permission as testing boundaries, trying to find out how further Jango will allow him to go before his paranoia gets the best of him.</p>
<p>Jango doesn’t move from his position against the wall. He’s left his buy’ce on the floor, and he has his jetpack in front of him. He’s almost done with the repairs, and he’s noticed the way Skywalker keeps looking at it, interest and curiosity and something that’s close to greed obvious on his young face.</p>
<p>From what Jango can tell, he cares about just two things: his master’s welfare and whereabouts, and machines. He isn’t what Jango would have expected from a jetii apprentice, from Kenobi’s apprentice, but what does Jango know about teenagers, after all. He was never allowed to be one—he barely remembers what it was to be fourteen, and what he does remember is soaked in a mix of grief, fear and fury.</p>
<p>At least Boba won’t have to go through that.</p>
<p>For a while, the three of them share the quiet. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s not especially tense, either. Jango finishes fixing his jetpack and thinks about the Slave I, still on the spaceport, about what he’ll do when he gets back to Kamino, about the jetiise and Kenobi and Boba and Tyrannus’s promises, about his eyayade. He should have left hours ago, he knows—what does it matter that he owed Kenobi a debt? If the count’s word is worth anything at all, they’ll be dead soon enough, and Tyrannus might be many things, but Jango doesn’t think he’s a liar. He’s arrogant and conceited and bitter and short-sighted—but he knows it’s in his and his master’s best interest to keep Jango happy and compliant. </p>
<p>Boba gets bored of watching Skywalker mess around with wires and bolts and returns to Jango’s side. He’s tired—he barely slept last night, and the oppressive heat of the little house doesn’t help. Skywalker gave him some water and an out of date ration bar a half an hour ago, and now he leans against Jango’s side, his small head burrowing under Jango’s arm. </p>
<p>Jango lets the corners of his mouth tick up, and then places his hydrospanner on the floor to brush his fingers through Boba’s curls.</p>
<p>“<a id="return1" name="return1"></a>Nuho’ika<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup>?” Jango asks in Mando’a. Boba doesn’t look at him, he just nods, and Jango stretches his legs in front of him. The child moves around until he’s laying on the floor, his head on Jango’s thigh.</p>
<p>Jango looks up—Skywalker’s staring at them, his gaze both direct and furtive at the same time. When he sees Jango’s caught him, he turns back to his work, his thin back hunched, his demeanor defensive. </p>
<p>Jango keeps his face placid, his thoughts quiet and calm. There’s something of Kenobi in the boy—the way he sits and holds himself, how he speaks sometimes, the way he watches him and Boba. But they are so different—and it’s not just a matter of character or inclination. Jango has met many beings like Anakin Skywalker in his almost forty years of life—but none of them had been raised on the upper levels of Coruscant. </p>
<p>Boba falls asleep. His breath still rattles a bit in his chest, and something whistles every time he breathes in. Jango frowns slightly, and places his dirty hand on his son’s shoulder. He doesn’t like the look of some of the marks left by the collar—some of them are deep enough to have bled, and they look red and inflamed, hot to the touch. When Boba wakes up again Jango’ll have to see if they can lend him some bacta, some disinfectant, and he’ll clean them properly. </p>
<p>Skywalker stood up, his head cocked and a distracted frown on his face. He suddenly approaches the door, his weapon already in his hand, and tears it open, stepping over the threshold in one long stride, still barefooted but nimble and unnaturally fast.</p>
<p>Jango curses under his breath. He carefully maneuvers his son off his leg, and then  he grabs his buy’ce and follows the boy outside.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>The speeder stops in front of the house ten minutes later. Gonji climbs out of the cockpit as fast as he can, and then rounds the vehicle and approaches the bed in the back. Skywalker’s already there, his sword carelessly tucked into his back pocket. He climbs on the bed with one easy jump and kneels on the hot metal.</p>
<p>“Master? Obi-Wan?” he says. Jango frowns and comes closer, his hand hovering over his blaster.</p>
<p>Kenobi’s eyes immediately find Jango. The jetii doesn’t say anything—he just stares at him. He’s alive, but he’s been badly beaten, and when he tries to stand up, he fails. He looks away, back to his padawan.</p>
<p>The boy keeps blabbering at him, his eyes wet but his face dry. His hands keep fluttering over his master’s prone figure, and he’s pale, pale as a ghost.</p>
<p>Gonji lowers the speeder’s ramp with a jerk of a switch and then climbs it, his heavy steps making the vehicle tremble.</p>
<p>“Move,” he says, and kneels next to the boy and his master, his long arms outstretched.</p>
<p>“No,” Skywalker replies. “I can—“</p>
<p>“Anakin, I’m fine,” Kenobi interrupts. He sounds awful. </p>
<p>Jango scoffs, and both jetiise turn to look at him. Skywalker scowls and opens his mouth, but his master is faster. </p>
<p>“Thought you’d have left already,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I told you to go.”</p>
<p>”A debt is a debt,” Jango replies. He takes off his buy’ce and turns to the boy. “Either help or move.”</p>
<p>Skywalker glares at him for a beat, but a second later he obeys. The Ithorian grumbles something under his breath and tries to lift Kenobi in his arms.</p>
<p>“I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own,” the man says, annoyance clear in his tone despite the hoarseness of his voice. His wrists are bound together—Jango has never seen that kind of cuff. </p>
<p>Gonji ignores Kenobi. The Ithorian slips an arm under Kenobi’s knees, another under his arms, and lifts him up without barely an effort—the jetii frowns, winces, but he keeps his mouth closed.</p>
<p>Jango precedes them into the house. Boba wakes up when he hears him come in, and he sits up, blinking, his shoulders tense. He relaxes when he sees Jango, and Jango approaches him, lets the boy hide behind him. </p>
<p>Gonji places Kenobi on the mattress in the corner, and then stands up again.</p>
<p>“I need to go,” he says. “I’ll return later today.”</p>
<p>Kenobi sits up with a wince. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” he tells the Ithorian. “Be safe.”</p>
<p>The man snorts, shakes his head. With one last look in Jango’s direction, he leaves. </p>
<p>Immediately afterwards Skywalker kneels next to his master on the floor. He hugs him, clearly trying to be careful but unable to hold himself back any longer—from his side of the room, Jango watches the way Kenobi’s face goes first tense with shock and then relaxes. He sighs, leans his forehead on his apprentice’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“Anakin, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is,” he says, his voice very low. </p>
<p>Jango should look away—he doesn’t. He watches them, perfectly aware of Boba doing the same, peeking from behind his hip, his little hands holding onto Jango’s belt.</p>
<p>Kenobi glances at them and then turns back to his apprentice. The boy is shaking, relief and anxiety making him shiver. His hands won’t leave Kenobi, like he’s afraid the man will disappear if he isn’t touching him. </p>
<p>“I couldn’t—I can’t feel you, master. I can sense you but the bond—“ he stops. He eyes Jango, scowls, turns back to Kenobi. “And you’re hurt, Obi-Wan. <em>That</em> I can feel.”</p>
<p>Kenobi half-smiles and raises his bound wrists. </p>
<p>“Force suppression cuffs,” he says, waving them between them. Now that he’s out of the sun and in a relatively safe place, he’s beginning to flag. Jango looks at him and wonders how the hell he managed to escape from wherever they had him. </p>
<p>Jango looks down at the cuffs, then back at the jetii, and tilts his head. Kenobi feels him watching, and he attempts to raise an eyebrow. He winces. He can barely open his left eye. </p>
<p>Skywalker is scowling down at the cuffs. Kenobi nods in the direction of the toolbox that’s on the floor next to them, but the teenager sticks his right hand in his pocket, takes out his lightsaber.</p>
<p>“Anakin, don’t you—“ Kenobi begins.</p>
<p>Skywalker rolls his eyes. He switches on the weapon, and at Jango’s back Boba gasps, tries to get closer to see it better. Jango grabs him by the shoulder.</p>
<p>“<em>Anakin</em>.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, master, it’ll be quicker this way,” Skywalker says carelessly. “Don’t move.”</p>
<p>The plasma blade cuts through the middle part of the cuffs as if it were flimsi. He immediately switches off the weapon and rushes to grab Kenobi by the shoulders—the man’s closed his eyes, his face slack, and he’s curled into himself. </p>
<p>Jango frowns, takes a step in their direction, and Skywalker turns to look at him.</p>
<p>“He’s fine,” he explains, his voice low. “It’s just—it’s a lot.”</p>
<p>Jango snorts.</p>
<p>“He’s been beaten,” he says, dry as bone. “I doubt he is.”</p>
<p>Kenobi opens his eyes again. He seems both more aware and less—his face has that familiar blankness by now Jango has learned to both hate and trust, and he breathes in deeply. His back straightens and he blinks, as if waking from a long dream. </p>
<p>He looks around himself. He raises his right arm, and it trembles, but when he crooks a finger, the crate with Skywalker’s supplies moves on its own across the floor.</p>
<p>Kenobi smiles.</p>
<p>Boba ducks under Jango’s arm and takes a step in the Jedi’s direction—Jango lets him go and crosses his arms. He keeps his eyes on Kenobi while the man greets his son and asks for some water and eats a ration bar in small, careful bites, while he listens to his apprentice’s explanation and to Boba’s confusing retelling of the past few hours. </p>
<p>Jango watches him, notices the way he holds himself—Kenobi says nothing’s broken, but he doesn’t move unless he has to. The Mandalorian keeps quiet while the other man talks and reassures his apprentice and somehow endears himself to Boba with three words, a joke and a wink.</p>
<p>Kenobi isn’t a bad man to owe a debt to. He’s too practical to reject Jango’s help now that he’s there, but he won’t ask more of Jango than he’d be ready to give—and he freed Boba when he didn’t have to.</p>
<p>He’s decent. He’s too smart for his own good and he knows it, and he’s reckless, brave to the point of stupidity, kind. </p>
<p>It’s been true for a long time, but Jango doesn’t like the fact that he doesn’t actually want to kill Kenobi—that he hasn’t wanted to for a while. Once the hatred disappeared, back when they were still trapped in that mine, once he saw Kenobi for what he is—well. </p>
<p>Jango doesn’t do sentiment: he doesn’t <em>know</em> how—if he ever did, he’s long forgotten. But he doesn’t hate Kenobi, doesn’t want him dead, doesn’t mind paying this debt he owes him. </p>
<p>Jango kept his gun and kept his promise and now—now he looks at Kenobi, at this man he can’t believe he doesn’t hate, and he finds that he doesn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Kenobi manages to keep it together until Boba falls asleep again, this time on Skywalker’s narrow mat. The teenager scowls but doesn’t complain—he’s tired too, and a few minutes later he drops off as well, curled on the floor under his red blanket, his sword close by. </p>
<p>It’s dark inside the room—the sun set minutes ago, and the only lamp doesn’t give out much light. Jango turns on the little heating unit and places it closer to his son’s sleeping form. The boy is curled in a little ball, and it isn’t so cold, but Jango remembers the room in Kawa’s complex, and—well.</p>
<p>He and Boba should have left when they had the chance. Kenobi told Jango that Kawa’s corpse had been found, that Calanta had taken over what’s left of the organization. The woman will be alert, will have men watching the spaceport and the main roads. If they want to leave, they’ll have to take care of her somehow.</p>
<p>And Jango isn’t scared—he isn’t worried. She’s dangerous, but so he is—he’s survived more dangerous things, and something tells him that he’ll have Kenobi on his side.</p>
<p>The man’s been sitting in the same place for the last few hours. He’s drunk and eaten some more, but when his apprentice offered to look him over and help him with his wounds, Kenobi avoided the subject. He told them he wasn’t that badly hurt, just bruised, that Calanta didn’t want him harmed, just softened up and weak.</p>
<p>Jango believes him and doesn’t, at the same time—he thinks Kenobi’s telling the truth when he says that’s what the woman wanted, but he isn’t fine. Having the shit beaten out of you and then being denied food or water or any kind of comfort for hours does have an effect on people. And Jango doesn’t know what the Force is, doesn’t care to learn, either, but he saw the way Kenobi reacted when those cuffs were destroyed—it can’t have been easy, having to go through that without it. </p>
<p>When Skywalker finally falls asleep, Kenobi sighs. He rubs at  his face and nods in the direction of the empty bedroom. Jango brushes his fingers one last time through his son’s hair and then stands up, following Kenobi to the other side of the open door. </p>
<p>The room is mostly empty. There is an empty crate in a corner, a stained and thin mattress on the floor, and the only window is boarded up. It’s very dark inside, and Jango blinks while he waits for his eyes to get used to the lack of light and for Kenobi to find the strength to cross the other room.</p>
<p>“Fett,” the man says. Jango doesn’t jump, but he feels himself tense up—he didn’t hear him coming. He hates how quiet Kenobi is—even beaten half to death and starved, he moves like a ghost. “Does this door close?”</p>
<p>“I’d rather it stayed open,” Jango replies. Kenobi snorts. He approaches the mattress and drops on top of it with a grunt. </p>
<p>“If anything happens to them, I’ll know,” Kenobi says. He leans his head back on the wall and looks at Jango under his lashes. “What, you don’t trust me yet?”</p>
<p>Jango scowls. </p>
<p>“We’ll need some light,” he says, and Kenobi smirks, lifts up his left hand. There’s a small portable lamp on it.</p>
<p>He switches it on and places it on the floor while Jango drags the door half-closed, trying to do it as quietly as he can.</p>
<p>Jango on the floor in front of the mattress, the portable light between them. The carpet feels rough through the thick fabric of his kute. Kenobi sighs. The mask he’s been wearing for the evening slips for an instant, and Jango is treated to a glimpse of the things Kenobi has been hiding underneath: bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of shocked acceptance that experience has taught Jango always follows after one is subjected to extreme violence without any way of fighting back. </p>
<p>Jango thinks—he wants to believe—that Kenobi will be fine. He’s resilient, stubborn—he’s a Jedi. They’re supposed to be made of sterner stuff. </p>
<p>But the thing is: Jango doesn’t like seeing Kenobi like this. It goes against everything he knows or thinks he knows about the man, and it makes him want to care. </p>
<p>And Jango doesn’t want to. Not about him.</p>
<p>“We need to talk,” Kenobi says. He’s watching Jango with shadowed eyes—Jango knows his face’s behaving—but he also knows that doesn’t count for much with jetiise. “I don’t want to wake them up.”</p>
<p>“We don’t need to talk,” Jango replies. Kenobi rolls his eyes. He tries to change positions and winces. Jango raises an eyebrow. </p>
<p>“You should have let the boy check you over,” he tells him, unimpressed. Kenobi laughs softly, the sound full of self-deprecation.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” he says. “It’s just—it’s really just bruising. They didn’t break anything. It just—it just hurts. It looks much worse than it actually is.”</p>
<p>Jango blinks—he didn’t want the kids to see. </p>
<p>He stands up. </p>
<p>“Wait here,” he tells Kenobi, and leaves the room without waiting for the man to say anything.</p>
<p>There’s a first aid kit in the supply crate. Jango used it earlier to clean and bandage Boba’s neck, and it wasn’t anything special, but it’ll do until Kenobi finds something better.</p>
<p>Jango steps back into the bedroom and drags the door closed behind him. When he turns back to Kenobi, the man’s where Jango left him, and he’s staring at Jango, the light of the lamp reflecting on his light eyes. Jango watches him back, and then approaches him, sets the kit on the floor. </p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Kenobi says. Jango snorts. </p>
<p>“You can’t lift your arms, can’t you,” he says drily.</p>
<p>“I’m <em>fine</em>.”</p>
<p>They stare at each other for a while, Jango still standing, Kenobi from the mattress. </p>
<p>Jango ends up having to help him undress. He helps Kenobi take off his soiled, disgusting shirt, and then he blinks and stares at his back. Not at the bruises, although they are many and impressive enough in their own right, but at the scars. Kenobi looks like he’s barely thirty and he has more than Jango—and he knows that beskar helps, but he spent five years being worked like an animal in a spice freighter, and it shows on his skin. </p>
<p>He had not expected to see as many scars on a Jedi’s body. </p>
<p>There’s not much bacta, but he finds a tube of anti inflammatory pomade, and he gives it to Kenobi. Jango watches while the man rubs it over his ribs, under his jaw. </p>
<p>“At least they didn’t break my nose,” Kenobi suddenly says, his voice low. Jango snorts. </p>
<p>“Twice in a week, eh,” he replies. He leans his arms on his knees. “Has it happened before?”</p>
<p>“Has <em>what</em> happened?” Kenobi sighs, tries to bend his body enough to reach low on his back and gives up with a grunt. “Having my nose broken? Once or twice. More than twice.”</p>
<p>Jango watches him for a beat. </p>
<p>“I meant twice in a week,” he says. He stretches his hand. “Give me that.”</p>
<p>Kenobi pauses.</p>
<p>For a beat, they look at each other, and it’s so quiet in the room Jango can hear the wind, the way the house creaks and settles around them, his son’s calm breathing. </p>
<p>The jetii cocks his head. His face isn’t blank, but Jango can’t read him. The seconds stretch, and the quiet descends upon them like a heavy blanket. Jango can hear his own breath rattling around in his chest, too loud, the cold night air against his bare arms. He pulled down the upper half of his kute a few hours ago, when it became obvious that they’d have to spend the night there, and now he regrets it. </p>
<p>Kenobi swallows and then gently places the tube on Jango’s hand, his fingers brushing against Jango’s palm, dry and cold. </p>
<p>“Turn around,” Jango tells him, and then immediately winces.</p>
<p>Kenobi begins to laugh, and the tension pops like a bubble. </p>
<p>“If you say it like that,” Kenobi replies, still snorting like a teenager. He obeys, and turns around so that his back is facing Jango.</p>
<p>His skin’s cold. Jango begins to rub the pomade in, trying to be careful, to be gentle, to not think about what he’s doing or the way Kenobi’s back feels against his hand. He’s too thin, but he’s strong—he’s all lithe, solid muscle and easy strength.</p>
<p>Kenobi shivers—he must be cold. He’s sitting on his folded legs, his hands on his thighs and his neck a pale curve in the dark, and he keeps himself very still, his breathing calm and regular. </p>
<p>Jango blinks—he stops, his hand high up on the man’s back, almost to his neck. There’s a bruise there, blue on the thick muscle between neck and shoulder, and he carefully places a finger there. It’s warm, warmer than the rest. He presses, gentle.</p>
<p>Kenobi shivers again, and then turns to look at him, his pupils blown, his eyes almost black in the darkness, the light blue visible because they’re very close, because Jango knows it’s there, knows to look for it. </p>
<p>He can smell him—Kenobi stinks of sweat, of blood, of dust and ozone. </p>
<p>Jango pauses: he’s too old to be doing <em>this</em>. His son’s on the other side of that door. He’s known Kenobi for barely two weeks, and he’s tried to kill him more than once, almost succeeded as many times. </p>
<p>Six years ago Jango signed a contract that’ll have Kenobi and all his kind dead in less than a decade. There are half a million children with his face on the other side of the galaxy that right now are being turned into the best soldiers the world has ever or will ever see, having their childhoods beat out of them, just because an old man told him that if Jango sold him what was left of his soul he’d be able to lay his ghosts to rest.</p>
<p>And Jango doesn’t regret it—he’s not a good man. They destroyed everything that was good about him twenty five years ago on a frozen field on Galidraan. </p>
<p>But he wants this—he wants Kenobi. His clever eyes and his rough hands and the way he looks at Jango, sharp and careful and full of heat despite his hurts and his fear and all the secrets they keep and their awful shared history. </p>
<p>He licks his lips and leans against Jango’s hand. </p>
<p>The tube of pomade clatters to the floor. Kenobi grabs Jango by the back of the neck, stops, half-twisted, looks Jango in the eyes.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Kenobi says, and he sounds wrecked already, his eyes shining like embers. “Or no?”</p>
<p>Jango stares at Kenobi, gets his other hand on him, on his flank, lets it rest over his ribs. He can feel the nicks and bumps of old breaks, old wounds. Kenobi finds the big, wide scar that climbs up from Jango’s back, and he caresses it with his little finger, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes, always watching him.</p>
<p>Jango shivers. His throat clicks when he swallows—his mouth’s dry.</p>
<p>He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like that.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he whispers.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>chapter: obi-wan has once again the shit kicked out of him (this time more or less off-screen). and the chapter (not the beating) gets ALMOST spicy by the end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a id="note1" name="note1"></a>1<sup>1</sup>Nap?<sup>[<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</sup></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Duel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello! i got impatient! i hope you enjoy this!!!!!!! (i'll upload the epilogue today too)</p><p>(chapter warnings in the end notes, as always)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Obi-Wan opens his eyes. The room’s dark, the tiny lamp he found in Anakin’s crate barely enough to illuminate their little corner. It lends the illusion of—privacy, of comfort. He blinks. He hurts, but it’s not—he feels good. Fett’s still half-asleep at his side, his back against Obi-Wan’s chest, and he’s warm. Every time he exhales his breath caresses Obi-Wan’s wrist, and by now his arm has fallen asleep where it lies under Fett’s neck, but Obi-Wan finds he doesn’t actually want to move.</p><p>He yawns. Last night feels like a dream. But no—it happened. It was real. Obi-Wan closes his eyes, genty leans his forehead against Fett’s—against Jango’s head. His curly hair tickles Obi-Wan’s nose, and he sighs.</p><p>He reaches out with his mind—Boba and Anakin are still asleep, their dreams troubled but stable. They will stay that way for at least a couple more hours. Dawn is still some time away, and the night feels both heavy and delicate at the same time: the room beyond their little bubble of warmth and skin is cold, and it’s so quiet Obi-Wan can hear Boba’s breathing on the other side of the half-closed door.</p><p>Jango twitches awake. Obi-Wan doesn’t open his eyes, and he stays where he is, his right arm under the man’s neck, his left cradling him against his own chest, their legs intertwined.</p><p>Jango’s thoughts change, from comfortwarmthdesire to nothing at all. It’s terrifying, how good he is at shielding his mind. Most non-Force sensitives don’t know how to marshal their thoughts like that, don’t even know that something like that can be done.</p><p>He’s terrifying. Obi-Wan sinks his nose in Jango’s curls and scowls.</p><p>Jango clears his throat.</p><p>“You’re awake,” Jango says, his voice a hoarse whisper, still thick with sleep. He tenses up and then relaxes, doesn’t attempt to move away. His hand is close to Obi-Wan’s on the mattress, and his fingers twitch once and then stay still.</p><p>“Unfortunately,” Obi-Wan replies.</p><p>Jango doesn’t laugh, but Obi-Wan feels him lean more fully against his chest, the pulse of warmth that slips through his shields, and he relaxes further.</p><p>For a while, they keep quiet. Obi-Wan lets his thoughts wander, his eyes closed and his hand on Jango’s chest, feeling the strong beating of his heart. The wall is cold against his back, but Jango is so warm, all heavy muscle and scars.</p><p>It didn’t surprise Obi-Wan the fact that he wants him. Jango’s—well. Obi-Wan doesn’t think he has a type, but if he did, they’d be someone like Fett: he’s complicated and extremely good at what he does and smarter than Obi-Wan and he has the driest sense of humour hidden under all that beskar, and he deploys his kindness as if it were another weapon.</p><p>What’s shocking is how much Obi-Wan wants him. It scares Obi-Wan—he’s no longer a padawan or a teenager. He should have a better hold on his emotions and on his wants.</p><p>And he wants to lay the blame on how he felt last night—vulnerable, out of sorts—and in the last few weeks—they have been some of the hardest of Obi-Wan’s life. But the fact is that Obi-Wan made the first move.</p><p>Obi-WAn offered something he isn’t actually supposed to give, especially to someone like Jango Fett, with his hatred and his secrets and his suit of armour, and he did it knowing perfectly well that Fett would very probably say yes.</p><p>“I can hear you thinking,” Fett says suddenly, his voice warm. Obi-Wan hides his smile in his hair.</p><p>“It <em>is</em> pretty quiet out here,” he replies mildly. Jango snorts. When he attempts to move, Obi-Wan lets him, lifting his arm and laying back on his back. Jango leans on his elbow and watches him, and Obi-Wan blinks. He feels caged in, stuck between Jango’s bulk and the wall.</p><p>It isn’t a bad feeling. He feels warm and safe and exactly the opposite at the same time.</p><p>Jango brushes his free hand over Obi-Wan’s face, his rough fingertips hot against his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his lips. They stop at his chin, and when Obi-Wan opens his mouth Jango leans in and kisses him, dry and slow at first, his hand resting on Obi-Wan’s neck, its weight unfamiliar but thrilling.</p><p>Obi-Wan hooks one leg behind Jango’s closest knee, tries to pull him closer, and the man snorts against his mouth, warmth and humour and a sharp sort of interest slipping his shields. They got dressed after they finished last night, and Obi-Wan can’t decide whether he hates or loves the fact that now he has to take Jango’s clothes off of him again. He slips one cold hand under his undershirt, scratches gently at his stomach, and grins against his lips when he feels the other man gasp softly. Jango shivers and leans back, watches Obi-Wan with half-lidded eyes, and he lets him look, the hand that’s not playing with the trail of hair under his belly button buried deep in the curls on his head.</p><p>“I thought you jetiise were celibate,” Jango says, his voice low. Obi-Wan shrugs the best he can, smirks up at him.</p><p>“Who said we aren’t,” he answers flippantly.</p><p>Jango rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but when Obi-Wan tugs at him, he goes, warm and heavy and willing, his mouth gentle and his knee already nudging Obi-Wan’s legs open.</p><p>*</p><p>Anakin keeps eyeing him from the other side of the room. He wants to say something, but he hasn’t yet—Obi-Wan doesn’t know whether to laugh or to make sure he never has the chance.</p><p>He’s denser than most about this kind of thing—Obi-Wan has been an unwilling witness to most of his interactions with his peers for the past few years, and he’s had to watch his young padawan awkwardly fumble his way through more than one crush—but he’s also fourteen.</p><p>Obi-Wan and Jango exited the room half an hour before he woke up, but he isn’t an idiot: it’s obvious he suspects something has happened. He’s trying to hide that he does, but now and then something that’s half-way between horror and an emotion that might be a sort of gleeful disbelief slips his shields.</p><p>It’d be very funny if it wasn’t so very embarrassing.</p><p>It’s not the first time Obi-Wan’s slept with someone since Anakin became his padawan, but usually that happens while they are on Coruscant between missions, and usually he makes sure Anakin isn’t in the next room when it happens.</p><p>Obi-Wan thinks that his apprentice would be able to understand that one can sleep with people without getting attached to them—it’s just that the mere thought of having to discuss that with Anakin at all makes Obi-Wan wish he really was celibate.</p><p>“Bu,” Boba says. He’s finished eating his ration bar, and for the past few minutes he’s been chattering at Anakin. It’s been a welcome distraction: slowly but surely, the boy’s managing to thaw the shield of teenage disaffection Anakin has begun to carry around himself lately. He’s clever and charming and very brave: he’s been through hell, and it shows on his face, on the way he reacts to certain things and how he keeps making sure his father is in his sight at all times. “Bu, I need to pee.”</p><p>Jango stands up without a word and offers Boba his hand. He glances at Obi-Wan, his face serious, and tilts his head in the ‘fresher’s direction—Obi-Wan nods, and doesn’t let himself react when the man’s mouth ticks up at the corners.</p><p>The silence when he disappears within the ‘fresher along with his son is so loud Obi-Wan’s sure they must be able to hear it from Coruscant.</p><p>He drinks some water and waits for the inevitable.</p><p>“So,” Anakin begins. He’s trying to act as if nothing’s happened, but subtlety has never been one of his many gifts. Obi-Wan sighs softly. “So.”</p><p>Anakin shuts his mouth again. Obi-Wan peers at him over his ration bar and takes another bite. It tastes like chalk, but he barely notices it. He can hear Jango speak softly to Boba from the other side of the fresher’s door, his voice gentle.</p><p>Obi-Wan lowers his ration bar, still chewing. He swallows and raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“Would you like to say something, padawan?” he asks blandly.</p><p>Anakin scrunches up his nose. His face is very red.</p><p>“Nothing,” he replies, stumbling over the word.</p><p>Obi-Wan takes a sip of his water. It’s warm and it tastes of plastic, and he has to force it down. He still hurts—he managed to meditate for an hour before Anakin and Boba woke up, and once his padawan woke up he bullied him into another thirty minutes or so of joint meditation.</p><p>It helped: Obi-Wan can breathe more easily, at least, and he can move better.</p><p>It’ll have to do—they aren’t done yet.</p><p>Gonji didn’t return last night, although he said he would. And it might be because he was tired, or because he found something better to do—but the man has shown himself to be reliable, and every time Obi-Wan thinks about him, every time he reaches out with the Force in search of clarity, his mouth fills with the taste of blood, sweet and metallic.</p><p>Anakin’s worried about him as well. He cares about the man—he isn’t especially sociable, his padawan, but he doesn’t like being alone, and Gonji has been the only friendly face he’s seen in many days.</p><p>The door to the fresher slides open. It’s the only one Anakin has fixed. He also fixed the toilet, and the sonic shower. He’s spent the past few days half-out of his mind—the fact that he has managed to restrain his more destructive impulses may be a sign that he is actually growing up and not just physically.</p><p>Boba steps through, and hops and skips until he can drop to the ground next to Anakin. Anakin eyes Boba, quicksilver fast, and doesn’t say anything, but Obi-Wan sees the way his mouth twitches—that was a smile.</p><p>Was he so—difficult, as a teenager? He doesn’t quite remember. He thinks he was too busy being shot at and stabbed and leaving the Order to be so awkward.</p><p>Jango exits the fresher behind his son. He’s armoured up once again—he’s tucked away what little vulnerability he let Obi-Wan see the night before, and he looks as unreadable and formidable as ever.</p><p>He barely looks at Obi-Wan when he steps into the main room, but he sits next to him, leans his back against the wall.</p><p>Anakin keeps glancing at him, at them. He’s trying very hard to not be obvious, but the only one in that room who’s not noticed what’s happening yet is Boba, and that has more to do with the fact that he’s five than with the teenager’s acting abilities.</p><p>It may be because he’s more attuned to Jango’s moods and feelings after last night, but Obi-Wan thinks he can sense something that might be amusement slipping through his shields.</p><p>Obi-Wan sighs. He rubs his face—they need to focus. He sits up, forces his back straight, and looks around the room. Jango eyes him, his face blank but his eyes sharp, and Anakin stops messing around with the man’s jetpack.</p><p>Obi-Wan still can’t believe that the Mandalorian even allowed him to touch it—he doesn’t think it’s because he trusts them, not even after their brief interlude on the other room’s mattress. He must have seen how good Anakin is with machinery, and noticed how the padawan kept stealing glances at it.</p><p>They should talk. That’s why Obi-Wan asked him to follow him to the other room the previous night: to talk. They need to plan, to discuss how they’re going to get themselves out of the mess they’re in, and maybe they should also speak about what ended up happening in the bedroom, even if Obi-Wan’s pretty sure the two of them are on the same page.</p><p>He’s a Jedi—not a very good one, maybe, but his loyalty is first and foremost to the Order. He may fail and doubt and lose his faith sometimes, but Obi-Wan knows like he knows nothing else that unless they expel him, he’ll be a Jedi until the day he dies.</p><p>And Jango—well. He’s a bounty hunter. And Obi-Wan knows that even if Jango doesn’t hate him anymore, he would not only happily let the Coruscant Temple burn to cinders but stand around to watch while it happens.</p><p>Obi-Wan finishes eating his ration bar, and then drinks what’s left of his water pouch to wash away the taste. He glances at Jango: he’s closed his eyes, his head leant against the back, and he looks peaceful, but his mind’s busy, his fast-moving thoughts like shadows in the Force.</p><p>He still could betray them—Obi-Wan knows that. It doesn’t matter that they’ve slept together, that the man is stubbornly holding onto that debt he says he owes Obi-Wan. If he has to choose between his son and them, he won’t hesitate.</p><p>It doesn’t hurt: Obi-Wan knows it’s not personal. He remembers the way Jango touched him, especially at first, the way he shook, the look in his eyes: whatever life he’s led, it can’t have been easy. He’s turned his grief and his loneliness into beskar and a cold kind of fury, but they’re still there.</p><p>Something catches his attention. Obi-Wan freezes, his head tilted. He looks at Anakin—his padawan is already looking at him, a frown on his face.</p><p>“Someone’s coming,” he says. “Master, the—“</p><p>“Yes. Stay here,” he orders him. He opens his palm, and doesn’t need to look to know that his ‘saber is moving towards his hand. He fishes it from the air already on his feet and half-way to the door. He can hear Jango’s footsteps following him, and when he looks back at him over his shoulder he’s faced with the sight of that familiar visor, the glass still cracked.</p><p>The man stops in front of Anakin.</p><p>“The jetpack?” Jango asks. Anakin glances at Obi-Wan, his ‘saber in his hand and a scowl on his face, and nods. Anakin watches while Jango attaches it to his back plate and checks the connection, his mouth already open, but the bounty hunter doesn’t let him speak. “Stay here with Boba.”</p><p>Anakin looks at Obi-Wan. He nods.</p><p>The five year old looks at them from the floor, his dark eyes wide open and his fear sharp and bitter in the Force. Jango stops right in front of the door, and then turns around, walks back to him and lifts him in his arms. The boy hugs his neck, his legs around his father’s waist.</p><p>Obi-Wan leaves them to it and opens the door.</p><p>The sun’s already high up when he steps outside. He breathes in the familiar smell of Tchuta-1 and palms his lightsaber, blinking in the light. There is someone coming from the west—he can see a dust cloud quickly becoming bigger.</p><p>Jango approaches him, and when Obi-Wan glances over his shoulder at him he sees that Jango has his blaster—Obi-Wan’s blaster—already in hand.</p><p>Every time he sees the weapon he has to look twice. He thought the man would already have gotten rid of it; it’s old and not very well kept and out of fashion, after all, and until forty eight or so hours ago Obi-Wan was pretty sure Jango Fett hated his guts.</p><p>The man tilts his head. The front of his helmet’s facing the figure, and Obi-Wan guesses he’s using his fancy tech to learn everything he can about them.</p><p>“Who is it?” Obi-Wan asks. He feels still inside, calm, but his hands are sweating. He ignores the urge to scowl and releases his anxiety and his fear into the Force. He’ll deal with his messy thoughts later.</p><p>“I know her,” Jango replies. His vocoder turns his voice into something cold and distant. “She was one of Boba’s guards. Very good with a rifle.”</p><p>He pauses and shifts his weight. The trigger finger of his free hand twitches.</p><p>“This is a trap,” Jango says.</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t have to ask why he knows that—he agrees. He doesn’t know enough yet to understand how and why it is a trap, if they should avoid it or spring it, but he agrees.</p><p>Obi-Wan eyes the Mandalorian.</p><p>“I don’t have to tell you not to shoot her, right,” he says. He’s only half-joking.</p><p>Jango doesn’t answer.</p><p>“Let me do the talking,” Obi-Wan insists. Jango snorts. He twirls his gun, once, twice, and slides it back in its holster.</p><p>“As if I could stop you,” he replies, bone-dry.</p><p>Obi-Wan doesn’t roll his eyes.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, and then he crosses his arms, his lightsaber loosely held in his right hand and the sun beating down on his head.</p><p>The vehicle arrives shortly afterwards. Its driver is a blue Twi’lek woman with dusty lekku. She’s got a black eye and her nose is swollen and dripping blood. When she sees them she stops her speeder and stands there gasping for air, the tips of her lekku twitching anxiously. Her dark eyes move from Jango to Obi-Wan to the house at their backs, and back again.</p><p>She’s unarmed—she looks like she left in a rush. She isn’t wearing a jacket, just a thin tanktop that’s already soaked in sweat, and her bare arms are already beginning to burn, the blue half-way to purple.</p><p>Slowly, very slowly, she raises her hands. Obi-Wan uncrosses his arms, and lets her see his lightsaber. He watches her, feels her out in the Force—she’s scared, so terrified she can barely think, and she hurts.</p><p>It may be a trap, but she isn’t part of it. Obi-Wan steps closer, and feels Jango tense up at his back.</p><p>“Good morning,” Obi-Wan says. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”</p><p>The woman swallows. Her eyes shift from him to Jango, and she swallows. She slowly lowers her arms.</p><p>“I know who you are,” she says, her voice low and hoarse. She clears her throat and winces. “I—I’ve heard your name.”</p><p>Obi-Wan hums. He wishes he had his old belt with him—for some reason, the movement of a lightsaber being hooked back on its proper place always calms people down.</p><p>“Of course,” he says. “Of course. Nonetheless, I don’t know you. You are not the one we were expecting.”</p><p>The woman swallows again. Her eyes keep straying to Jango, but if she’s looking for help, for some semblance of familiarity, Obi-Wan doubts she’ll find it.</p><p>“They caught him. Gonji. Last night,” she says. She’s shaking—she has it under control, but now and then shivers break out. “They—they saw him coming back here and. They have him.”</p><p>Jango shifts his weight, and the woman startles.</p><p>“That’s a trap,” Jango says. He isn’t looking at Obi-Wan, but he knows he’s talking to him. “They want you to go.”</p><p>Obi-Wan agrees, but he keeps quiet and he keeps his eyes on the woman.</p><p>“Why are you here?” Obi-Wan asks her. She swallows.</p><p>“They’re coming here, too,” she answers. She swallows again, and she blinks, her lekku rigid with fear. She isn’t telling the whole truth, but she’s not lying either. “Not all of them but—they’re coming here.”</p><p>“For the boy,” Jango says. She nods.</p><p>Obi-Wan rubs his chin, scratches at the stubble there. He looks at her black eye, at the way she holds herself.</p><p>“You did or know something you shouldn’t,” he slowly says. The woman turns to look at him so suddenly he can hear her neck crack. “That’s why you’re here.”</p><p>“She let us go,” Jango says suddenly. She nods.</p><p>“She—when they found the body, she knew immediately you had been the one to do it, and—and then she asked for me.”</p><p>“How did you escape?” Obi-Wan asks.</p><p>She shivers and hugs herself.</p><p>“I didn’t. I—they worked me over and then let me go.” She swallows again, and leans back against the speeder, and she must be Obi-Wan’s age, but suddenly she looks so much younger. “I know—I know why she did it, but had to tell you. I had to.”</p><p>She isn’t lying. Obi-Wan sighs and brushes his free hand through his hair. He tilts his head towards the house, and Jango uncrosses his arms.</p><p>Obi-Wan waits until they are already back inside the house. He then approaches the speeder—the engine is still warm. It’s an old model, beat up and fixed so many times he doubts even Anakin would be able to guess its original make.</p><p>Obi-Wan breathes in, breathes out—he reaches out for the Force, and the Force answers, fills him with certainty. He looks back at the house once last time, and then he mounts the speeder and leaves.</p><p>He doesn’t like leaving Anakin alone, leaving them alone—but he finds he trusts Jango to keep his word, and he owes Gonji, and the Force tugs at him with invisible fingers, slipping through his exhaustion and his pain.</p><p>It’s almost over, it seems to say—you just need to hold on a little longer.</p><p>Obi-Wan tugs at his bond with Anakin, sends him a wave of apology and comfort, and then lets go of his fear and empties his own mind.</p><p>*</p><p>Skywalker says something surprisingly nasty in Huttese that makes Eul’alia snap a look at him half a second before Jango hears the speeder roar back to life. He runs back out, shoving the Twi’lek out of the way without even looking.</p><p>Kenobi is already far away, his auburn hair shining red under the pale morning sun. Jango snarls. He hears Skywalker step up to him, and he turns to look at the boy: he’s pale, his eyes wide, and he looks seconds away from bolting, from running after his master on foot, barefoot as he is, his ‘saber in his hand and his hair still ruffled with sleep.</p><p>“Bu?” Jango pauses. He turns to look at Boba. He’s waiting inside, his hand tucked into Eul’alia’s, his eyes wide. Jango closes his eyes and puts his fury away to deal with later, and lowers himself to one knee. Boba lets go of Eul'alia and approaches him, lets Jango lift him up in his arms.</p><p>Jango turns to look at Skywalker.</p><p>“Kid,” he says. The apprentice tenses up.</p><p>“I need to follow him,” he replies. He isn’t even looking at Jango. “I’m fast. I can do it.”</p><p>“They’re coming here for you,” Jango tells him. Skywalker turns to look at Jango, his face uncomprehending. “They have the Ithorian.”</p><p>Understanding appears on the boy’s face. “It’s a trap,” he breathes. His scowl deepens. “But Obi-Wan has to know that it is, why did he—?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jango replies.</p><p>His anger surprises him. Whatever happened last night is just that: and will never happen ever again.</p><p>The boy curses again. His fingers clench and unclench on his lightsaber. He closes his eyes and breathes in, breathes out—his face loses some of its tension, and suddenly Jango feels <em>something</em> touch him, like a hand on his chest or eyes on his back. He shudders; he’s wearing beskar. That shouldn’t be happening.</p><p>Skywalker blinks his eyes open. He looks calmer—still unhappy, with that familiar edge of simmering frustration, but more centered, more stable. He doesn’t look as if he is about to bolt.</p><p>He turns to look at Jango, his dark blue eyes full of an uncanny kind of certainty.</p><p>“He will help Gonji and take care of the darksider,” he says. His voice is empty of doubt, of hesitation: Jango suddenly understands that he doesn’t so much trust Kenobi as he has faith in him, unmovable, unbreakable.</p><p>That’s a lot of weight for a lone man to carry.</p><p>“Fett,” Eul’alia says. Jango feels Boba squirm in his hold, but he doesn’t let go of him. “They were getting ready to leave when I left. We should—“</p><p>She falls quiet. She blinks, stricken.</p><p>Jango looks at the Skywalker. The teenager stares back at him, his young face determined. He’s nervous, and scared, but he looks at Jango with clear eyes.</p><p>They could leave. That’s an option—they might be close, but Jango can’t hear yet the rumbling of engines: if they run now, they might be able to make it. And he has his jetpack: he could just grab Boba and fly all the way back to the spaceport.</p><p>That’s exactly what he should do, what everyone would expect him to do. It’s the clever choice: cut his losses, forget about his debt, leave this shabla place while they are busy with the jetiise.</p><p>But even while he fantasizes about leaving, Jango already knows that he won’t. He doesn’t care that much about what they think about him, especially because it’s true—he knows he’s ruthless and selfish and that the path he’s chosen for himself is the furthest thing away from what his buir believed in, from what Jaster wanted for him.</p><p>But Jango swore to himself he’d see the jetii apprentice safe, and he’s broken his own word enough times he’d like to at least keep that promise.</p><p>They could all leave. The house is in the middle of nowhere, and Jango thinks he could get them half-way to the spaceport and the Slave I before anyone caught up with them. And if the terrain was different, he’d think about it—but no. They’ll see them leaving from kilometers away.</p><p>Eul'alia’s watching him, her dark eyes calmer. She’s hugging herself, but she’s stopped shivering, and he can see the way the tips of her lekku sway slightly. She’s clever and good with a gun—it’s a pity she’s unarmed. Or maybe not: Kenobi might have trusted her, might have believed she was telling the truth, and he’s smart and perceptive enough even without his weird Force osik to be hard to lie to, but—well.</p><p>He slept with Jango, after all. Jango may be overestimating his intelligence.</p><p>Jango shoves the thought away. He cannot afford to be distracted. He looks at the Twi’lek, then at Skywalker. Boba squirms again in his arms, and Jango relents and lets him down. The boy doesn’t go far, however—he stays close to Jango, his hand hooked in his belt and his head pressed against the beskar on his waist.</p><p>They’ll have to make their last standing here, he guesses. He finds he’s not especially worried. He knows himself well, and he knows what jetiise are capable of, even young, half-trained ones like Skywalker.</p><p>“Shouldn’t we run away?” Eul’alia asks him. Jango tilts his head in her direction, and watches her quietly for a few seconds. Either she’s really thrown in her lot with them, or she’s stalling—maybe both.</p><p>“They’ll catch up with us,” Jango replies shortly. He turns to look at Skywalker. The boy’s watching him, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. He has his sword in his right hand, and he keeps flipping the weapon, the metal flashing flashing in the dim light. Jango nods at it. “How good are you with that thing?”</p><p>The boy straightens his spine. He’s half a head taller than Jango already, and it’s obvious he still has a lot to grow up.</p><p>“I’m the best in my class!” the boy answers, offended. Jango hears Eul’alia mutter something under her breath—he agrees with the sentiment.</p><p>Jango sighs inside his buy’ce, and feels Boba curl closer. After a beat, he takes it off and places it under his free arm, the other one around his son. He looks at Eul’alia, at Skywalker.</p><p>“I can get us through this,” Jango tells them. “Can you do what I tell you to?”</p><p>Eul'alia nods, and after an instant, so does Skywalker. Jango lets himself smirk.</p><p>“This is what is going to happen,” he begins to say.</p><p>*</p><p>The speeders stop a few meters away from the house. Jango counted them while they were approaching from the north. There are twelve men and women, well-armed and more or less sober.</p><p>Jango blinks off his HUD. He’s got his beskar’gam, his gun, his jetpack, half a dozen of thermal detonators, a vibroknife, his flamethrower and himself. He watches them approach the house, standing with his hands down in front of the closed door, his head tilted.</p><p>The kids and Eul’alia are inside. If anything happens to him, she and Skywalker will get Boba to safety.</p><p>But Jango isn’t worried—he’s survived worse odds. He’ll manage.</p><p>A big Togruta male approaches the house and begins yelling something. Jango ignores him—whatever he’s saying will be a lie. They aren’t here to negotiate, they’re here to finish a job and afterwards they’ll clean house. It’s what he’d tell them to do if he were in Calanta’s place.</p><p>He waits for them. Two of them remain with the speeders—Jango sees an enormous rotary canon in the hands of the bigger of the two, a human woman. That isn’t ideal, but he notes their presence and decides to ignore them for the time being.</p><p>The rest of them fan out and begin approaching the house, their weapons ready in their hands. Blasters, a couple rifles, one big blaster shotgun that’ll be absolutely useless unless the Rodian that wields it gets close enough. Jango checks his sensors—they aren’t trying to be clever about it, either, and no one has thought to approach the house from the back yet.</p><p>Jango left Skywalker with his sword in his right hand and so jittery he seemed seconds away from vibrating out of his skin—he’d like to see them try and catch the boy by surprise.</p><p>“Fett,” the Togruta says. He’s carrying a big blaster rifle. Jango notes the weapon and then idly tunes into what the shabuir’s saying. “Fett, this doesn’t have to end like this.”</p><p>“You can leave,” Jango replies. He doesn’t move from his position and keeps his eyes on the Togruta. “No one has to die today.”</p><p>They laugh, some of them more genuinely than the others. The Togruta doesn’t. He’s seen Jango fight—he was with him that time Kenobi followed them. He keeps his eyes on Jango, the pale blue of his montrals dusty and washed out against the darker sky. He’s tense, and his clawed hands keep clenching and unclenching against the butt of his weapon.</p><p>“We won’t die here, Fett,” he finally says. “You don’t have to, either. Let us take the boy and we’ll let you and your boy leave.”</p><p>It’s a lie. If Jango was in Calanta’s position, he’d have put a hit on his own head, offered the lucky winner their weight in wupuipi.</p><p>Jango keeps quiet. The Togruta scowls. He raises his upper lip in a snarl and jerks his head forward. Jango doesn’t move.</p><p>Jango watches while they raise their weapons and take a step forward, and then another; he counts in his head and then—</p><p>the sound is awful. The boy told him that it’d be, and Jango had turned off his buy’ce’s sound receptors in preparation half a second before, but even then he can feel it through the flats of his feet, all through his body.</p><p>Skywalker’s handmade bombs—put together in barely twenty minutes with whatever he had lying around while Boba and Eul’alia watched his hands with twin expressions of awe on their faces—do their job admirably. They explode almost at unison, and Jango braces, knees bent and center of gravity low, and watches through his visor.</p><p>The Togruta is already dead. He’s lost a leg at the hip, and he’s bleeding out quickly, his eyes wide and staring blindly at the sky. Most of them were too far away, but two of them are out of commission as well, at least for a while.</p><p>But all of them are—confused, shocked, half-blind and completely deaf. Jango stares at them calmly, his attention divided between the bodies on the ground right in front of him and the pair they had left with the speeders.</p><p>One of them, a Wookie, is already running towards them—Jango slips one of his thermal detonators from his belt, activates it and then begins counting down the seconds in his head. When he throws it, it lands right between the Wookie’s feet. The being tries to avoid it, tries to jump away, but they’re too slow.</p><p>The detonator explodes in a cloud of dust and burnt fur. Jango forgets about them.</p><p>The Togruta’s rifle is close to him, lying on the ground—it looks dirty and scratched but whole. Jango picks it up from the dirt and holsters his own blaster. He raises the weapon to his shoulder and begins shooting.</p><p>Another two fall. Jango counts in his head—four down, another eight to go. And by then the ones the first blast didn’t seriously hurt are already back on their feet, unholstering blasters and running for cover. Jango curses, picks out another one, and then does the same.</p><p>He runs back to the door, and closes it behind him. He throws the rifle to Eul’alia, who grabs it from the air with a grunt, and then he unholsters his blaster and goes to the nearest window. They took off some of the boards, and he peers through it—meanwhile, the Twi’lek does the same, and soon enough he can hear her take another shot.</p><p>“Seven,” she says, her voice cold and satisfied. Jango doesn’t look at her, just grunts.</p><p>“Where’s the boy?” he asks. “And Boba?”</p><p>“’Fresher. Told him to put his boots on,” she replies.</p><p>For a while, they just work in silence, trying to pick them out one by one, the front of the building rattling and the dust swirling around the house. The minutes stretch—they begin to run out of ammo, but Jango isn’t worried.</p><p>He never is, when he’s in a fight.</p><p>Jango lowers his gun and retreats from his window. He approaches the door, and stops right in front of it. Now and then a stray blaster bolt reaches the metal, but the durateel holds. At his back, safe behind the ‘fresher’s locked door, is his son. Jango checks his heat signature in his buy’ce’s HUD and then turns to look at Eul’alia.</p><p>“I’ll draw them out,” he tells her. She barely glances at him, busy looking down her rifle’s scope. She really is an astoundingly good shot—she‘ll do well out in the galaxy if she ever gets off Tchuta-1. “You shoot them down.”</p><p>Her lekku twitch where they’re curved around her neck, and she jerks her chin.</p><p>Jango breathes in, breathes out, cracks his neck. Checks his vambraces, brushes the ka’ra on his chest, right in the middle of his hal’cabur.</p><p>He checks his HUD, finds his marks—five left. One to the right, three a couple meters to the center and left, probably behind their vehicles—those’ll be trouble—and one to the left, trying to go around the house.</p><p>Jango puts his hand over the door handle. “There’s one trying to find a way in through the back,” he tells Eul'alia. She eyes him and nods. “Left side.”</p><p>And then Jango opens the door and steps out, the metal sheet sliding shut behind him.</p><p>For an instant the shots hiccup to a very short stop—the last thing one is supposed to do during a shoot out, after all, is to go out in the open.</p><p>But Jango’s wearing thirty kilograms of refined beskar. He activates his jetpack and turns in the air. The blaster bolts don’t even graze him—their attackers are confused by his sudden appearance, and they don’t know if they should keep shooting at the house or focus their fire on him.</p><p>Jango drops right behind the parked speeders—he had thought about blowing them up with one of his dets, but they’ll probably need them later—and gets to work.</p><p>Two people, one Human and two Rodians. Jango takes out the closest one with a punch to the head; the Rodian stumbles, free hand cradling their snout, and Jango grabs them by the neck, twists them around, lets the being’s body take a couple of blaster shots that were meant for him.</p><p>Jango lets them slide to the ground, and then ducks, drops under a wide slash with a shabla vibroblade. The Human’s big, bigger than him, a tall, broad shouldered woman with shaved hair and a cybernetic eye. Jango fires his flamethrower in her face, and the woman drops her vibroblade, yells, fury and pain, and instead of moving away rushes him, her skin raw and red and her hands outstretched.</p><p>Jango curses. She has some weight and a head on him, and she takes him down easily. Jango falls on his jetpack, and he immediately rolls to his right, his legs around the woman’s hips. She’s trying to take his buy’ce off, trying to get her hands around his neck—he unsheathes the blade hidden in his vambrace and plunges it in under her left armpit. She gurgles, loses strength, and then her remaining partner finds their wits and drags him off of her twitching body.</p><p>She’s already dead.</p><p>The Rodian is stronger than they look—they kick Jango in the area of his torso unprotected by his beskar’gam, and Jango wheezes, rolls away. He doesn’t wait until he’s back on his feet to activate his jetpack—he puts some distance between the Rodian and himself, unholsters his blaster, and shoots at them, once, twice. Third try, he puts a bolt between their eyes.</p><p>Jango lands on the balls of his feet on the other side of the speeders, and looks around.</p><p>The place is full of bodies. His plan worked—while he was playing bait, Eul’alia picked off the remaining attacker. Jango activates his sensors, scans the area—the one who slipped away to try and find another way inside the house is still there, hiding somewhere in the underbrush that surrounds the building.</p><p>Jango steps over the corpse of the Togruta and approaches the house. The door opens, and Eul'alia steps over the threshold, her rifle still against her shoulder. She combs the area, and then turns to look at Jango.</p><p>“Can’t find the last one,” she tells him. She’s pale, and she has a long, bloody gash on her right cheekbone, but beyond that she seems fine.</p><p>Jango tilts his head. He can see them on his HUD—they’re close, but they aren’t moving.</p><p>The ‘fresher door opens with a whisper, and Jango sees Skywalker pop his head out. He’s keeping Boba behind him with a hand, the other holding his weapon.</p><p>Good kid.</p><p>He looks at them and frowns. His face blanks out, and then he tilts his head.</p><p>He raises the hand with his ‘saber, the motion easy. Jango frowns, nonplussed</p><p>Something appears over the building’s roof and drops on the ground right in front of the house. Jango curses, twists, his gun already back in his hand, and when he sees the stranger he shoots without stopping to think—at his side, he feels more than sees Eul'alia doing exactly the same.</p><p>The being’s body—Trandoshan, dirty with dust, their green skin shining dimly under the sun—twitches once, twice, and then doesn’t move anymore.</p><p>Jango checks his HUD, finds nothing, and then turns to look at Skywalker.</p><p>The boy stares back, his eyes shaded. He lets his hand drop, sword still dark.</p><p>“He was hiding,” Skywalker says. “I found him for you.”</p><p>He’s—proud of himself. He knows he’s done well. There’s satisfaction there, a dangerous sort of arrogance. Jango watches him, and wonders if his master has seen it in the boy as well. It’s the kind of thing that will get Skywalker into trouble and other people killed sooner rather than later.</p><p>Jango holsters his blaster and steps into the house. Immediately, his son runs to him and throws his arms around him. Jango lifts him up, hiding the wince of pain that wants to escape when one of Boba’s feet hits him in the same place the Rodian managed to kick him, and moves away from the door. He doesn’t want his son to see the carnage outside.</p><p>Skywalker steps out of the ‘fresher as well. His demeanor has changed once again—he looks like his mind is far away, a slight frown on his forehead. By now, Jango has seen that expression on his face and Kenobi’s enough to know what it means.</p><p>“Obi-Wan is alive,” the boy says. He scowls, annoyed. “He’s shielding himself from me.”</p><p>Jango wants to sigh, but he doesn’t. He carefully sets Boba back on the floor, and then turns on his heel, steps outside once again.</p><p>The stretch of tarmac and dry dirt in front of the house stinks of blood, viscera and blaster discharge. Jango switches on his buy’ce’s filters and approaches one of the speeders—he could use his jetpack, but he’d rather not waste the fuel.</p><p>He straddles one of the bikes, and then turns to look at the house. He can see Eul’alia on the door. She holds Jango’s son over her hip, Boba’s small round face staring wide-eyed at the bodies. The Twi’lek pulls him back, closes the door, and Jango hesitates, his finger lingering over the ignition.</p><p>He swallows.</p><p>One last time, he thinks, and leaves.</p><p>*</p><p>The second time Kenobi made him come, he did it with his eyes on Jango’s face and his hand hot and slick with precum and his own spit on Jango’s cock, his rough palm on the right side of too much. He let Jango hide his moans in his neck, his own dick hard against his belly, and afterwards he kissed Jango’s cheek and put his clean hand on his neck, his fingers playing with his hair, his heart beating strong and quick against Jango’s ear.</p><p>Jango’s never been the kind of person who does that—he doesn’t sleep around with people he’s just met. He didn’t do it before the world ended, and he never did it back then when he thought he had nothing left to lose. Sex as an end by itself has never been that interesting or attractive to him. He’s unfamiliar with the idea of desire for desire’s sake, with watching someone else and wanting to take them to bed.</p><p>But he slept with Kenobi. And he’s too old by now to be able to lie to himself. He slept with Kenobi because Jango likes him: he likes his bright mind and his kindness and his ruthlessness.</p><p>Kenobi will die. He’s a Jedi, and even with the memory of those stolen hours in that bedroom still fresh, this knowledge makes Jango recoil.</p><p>He will die, and Jango will forget him. That’s how it is.</p><p>*</p><p>Obi-Wan stops the speeder next to the ruins of Spadaro’s brothel. He was there when they set it on fire, and it still smokes. The whole town stinks of burnt paper and melted down plasteel, and when Obi-Wan walks by its former front door, the ashes turn the pale leather of his boots dark.</p><p>He had a hand in that—he makes himself look.</p><p>He doesn’t know what happened to most of the people he met there. Some of them he had to kill himself, but the rest, like Hercules, the Toydarian, had left by the time they arrived. Got on a big speeder and booked it to the other spaceport on the other side of the mountains.</p><p>They had emptied Spadaro’s office first, of course—Kawa told him to check, and Obi-Wan did, by then still trying to play nice with the Zabrak. Obi-Wan found nothing, but the woman was too happy to actually care.</p><p>There are beings posted on the buildings' roofs. Obi-Wan marks them both with the Force and with his eyes, and he lets the way he walks, the way he moves, return to what it should be. He sheds the layers of his disguise, of this Ben that’s him and isn’t at the same time, and greets them with a hand to his brow. He powers his lightsaber and lets its blue blade be his herald, listens to them gasp and mutter, tastes their fear and their awe in the Force, and lets his smile widen.</p><p>Calanta is waiting for him sitting on the steps to Gonji’s cantina. The man is right beside her, tied down, his wrists behind his back. He looks like they’ve worked him over, but he doesn’t feel cowed. Scared, yes, and tired—but he’s not beaten. He’s made of sterner stuff, and anyway—Calanta hasn’t tried that hard with him.</p><p>He was a means to an end, like everything else in Tchuta-1, and apparently nobody’s paid her to be unnecessarily cruel. She keeps her eyes on Obi-Wan, her weird looking blaster resting on her lap and her hat tilted back. She isn’t especially anxious—she’s focused on the work, on her job.</p><p>Obi-Wan stops right in front of her. He twirls his ‘saber, lets its hum echo through his bones—its blade is the same colour of the moon’s pale blue sky.</p><p>“Hello,” he tells her. “I believe you wanted to see me.”</p><p>Calanta scowls. She takes off her hat, places it carefully on the step by her side, and then stands up, her weapon held loosely in her right hand. He can tell that she’s trying to reach him with the Force, scrabbling against his mind—he smirks at her, twirls his ‘saber again, and lets her.</p><p>For a while they just look at each other. Obi-Wan feels himself sweat and redden under the sun, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t let that disturb him. He’s much more than this body—he’s light, and he’s Light: he is one with the Force, and the Force is with him.</p><p>When one of the thugs up on the nearest roof loses their nerve and takes a shot at him, he reflects it back to them without looking.</p><p>Their body falls to the ground with a dull thud, and Calanta scowls. She crosses the street, her steps measured and slow, keeping their distance, and Obi-Wan’s happy to let her. He keeps pace with her, his ‘saber held loosely in his hand, the metal warm and reassuring.</p><p>“Are we waiting for something in particular?” he asks her. He lets his voice fill the corners of the settlement’s main street, lets it echo and return to him.</p><p>The woman doesn’t answer. She walks, and then she stops—the sun is blinding and right in front of him. Obi-Wan squints—he can’t barely see. He shrugs and closes his eyes.</p><p>First: his ‘saber, the hot ground under his boots, the sun on his head and the sweat under his arms. Second: all the minds in the settlement, sentient and dumb, quiet and loud and hiding.</p><p>Third: Calanta, a nexus of cold iron and determination. She’s not scared, but she’s angry. She thinks she has something that he won’t see coming.</p><p>Obi-Wan raises his ‘saber, falls into Soresu, easy as breathing. He’s tired and he hurts, but he lets the pain and the exhaustion go, focuses on the way his weapon feels in his hand and the way the kyber sings in his mind.</p><p>Calanta stops. Something clicks, and half an instant before she fires, Obi-Wan senses a sharp spike of spite, of <em>glee</em>.</p><p>He doesn’t repel the shot with his blade—in the last possible second, the Force <em>sings</em>, his mouth fills with the taste of iron and blood, and he lets the bolt pass by him, twisting on his feet. He feels Calanta’s frustration, her disappointment, and then another one follows, and another, and yet another one—she’s fast and she’s good and Obi-Wan stops thinking, his weapon buzzing but useless in his hand and his eyes closed, and lets his steps take him closer to her.</p><p>He counts the shots—one two three FOURFIVESIX—and when she stops shooting he stops as well, opens his eyes, the sun no longer shining through the thin skin of his eyelids, and looks at her, blinking in the sudden light.</p><p>The woman pulls the trigger of her weapon once, twice, without effect. She snarls, her composure finally broken. The place stinks of something spicy and weirdly organic that Obi-Wan doesn’t recognise.</p><p>He puts it out of his mind and raises his ‘saber once again, Ataru instead of Soresu, and looks at the dead weapon still in Calanta’s hand. A thin wisp of blue smoke escapes the overheated barrel—he understands.</p><p>Of course his first time seeing a slugthrower in person is from the wrong side of its barrel.</p><p>“That might have worked on someone else,” Obi-Wan tells her, “but not on me.”</p><p>She scowls. She throws the slugthrower at his head, and then whips out her blaster, takes another shot at him, faster than thought and twice as deadly. Obi-Wan curses, dodges the flying lump of metal, and falls back into Soresu, repels the first shots and ducks under the next.</p><p>He calls the Force to him and puts on a burst of speed, gets under her guard, and she’s good, she’s fast, but he’s better. Five years ago he was good enough to kill a Sith and now he’s better, he’s worked hard and trained harder and it shows.</p><p>And she might be Dark, but she’s no Sith.</p><p>He doesn’t like putting his blade through her stomach, but he can’t say he minds, either.</p><p>Obi-Wan gently lowers down her body. She’s still alive when he does that, but then something flashes in her eyes, the irises shine poisonous yellow, and she’s gone.</p><p>For a while afterwards he just breathes. In and out. In and out. He looks around himself, at the roofs, but they are empty, and when he reaches out he can’t find anything that’s not a bright sort of fear.</p><p>He puts them out of his mind and approaches Gonji. With a gesture, his binders fall to the ground with a dull clink of metal. The Ithorian stands up, rubbing at his wrists, and looks at Obi-Wan.</p><p>He clicks on his translator.</p><p>“Took you long enough,” he says. He sounds—well. He sounds like a machine; but Obi-Wan can feel his relief in the Force. He sighs, rubs at his face, powers down his lightsaber. He lets go of the Force, and winces when the weight of his exhaustion, of the heat and the stress of the past few weeks comes down on him.</p><p>“I guess,” he replies. “Sorry.”</p><p>The Ithorian shakes his head. For a while, they just look at each other. Obi-Wan scans the man, looking for injuries: there are some marks on his bare arms, and his blood has stained the fabric of his tunic pale blue, but he looks well enough, and when Obi-Wan prods at him with the Force the main thing he can feel is bone deep exhaustion.</p><p>Obi-Wan helps Gonji reach the bar, and then he goes behind the counter and serves him a drink from a hidden compartment under the taps.</p><p>It’s dark and relatively cool inside the cantina. There is an overturned chair in a corner, and the holoprojector lies, broken, next to it on the ground. Obi-Wan pours some pale amber liqueur in a dusty glass and takes it to Gonji. Its smell is so sharp it makes his eyes water—he’ll pass.</p><p>Obi-Wan would like some water. He’s drenched in sweat and his head hurts, the stress from the duel and dehydration having taken a toll on him. He rubs at his face, sticks his lightsaber in the right pocket of his trousers, and then steps back outside.</p><p>He approaches Calanta’s body. Her dead eyes stare wide open at the sky, the yellow of her irises ringed by broken blood vessels. If not for the perfect charred circle his ‘saber left on her lower belly, anyone would think her asleep.</p><p>Obi-Wan swallows. This is the second darksider he’s killed in five years. He rubs at his face again, his mouth dry and bile climbing up his throat.</p><p>He looks away, returns to the cantina, and drops on the steps to the porch. He eyes the hat, still where Calanta placed it. He moves it aside—it’s still warm.</p><p>He needs to go back to the house, to his padawan. He can see his speeder where he left it, some meters to the right, right in the middle of the road.</p><p>It seems so far away.</p><p>*</p><p>When Jango arrives, driving a speeder Obi-Wan has never seen before, he’s still sitting on the step. The Mandalorian stops right in front of him and gets off the bike. He looks at Calanta’s body, still face up on the middle of the street, and then takes off his helmet.</p><p>Obi-Wan smiles at him, and doesn’t stand up. He doesn’t think he can. He stares at Jango; the man looks—well. He looks as he always does: he looks like he’d be able to fight a whole war on his own.</p><p>Obi-Wan will miss him. He doubts they will see each other ever again.</p><p>He watches Jango watching him, last night still swirling around in his brain. Later he will let go of this—this growing thing, but not now. Not yet. They are alive, and they’ve won, and the sky is blue and they are free.</p><p>“Hello there,” he tells him. Jango sighs, his usually unreadable face doing something that looks dangerous, and then the Mandalorian comes closer, his steps long and fast over the hard-packed earth. “I’m guessing things went well.”</p><p>Jango stinks of blaster discharge and fuel, and Obi-Wan tilts his head and looks at him without standing up. He reaches out for him in the Force, and blinks, surprised, when he finds he can actually sense something from the bounty hunter.</p><p>Relief, mostly. He’s happy to see Obi-Wan.</p><p>Jango opens his mouth, closes it again. Shakes his head. He reaches out with a gloved hand, curls it around Obi-Wan’s neck, and then kisses him, open-mouthed and gentle, right in the middle of the street.</p><p>“That was stupid,” he tells him afterward, taking a step back. “Could have gone much worse than it has.”</p><p>Obi-Wan blinks. He feels hot inside, desire heavy and twisting in his belly. He shrugs. Jango shakes his head and sits down next to Obi-Wan on the step, knocks him lightly with his shoulder, and then stays there, leaning right against him, solid and true.</p><p>“Maybe,” Obi-Wan replies after he’s found his voice again. “But it worked.”</p><p>Jango snorts.</p><p>He nods. He eyes the body again and then turns to look at Obi-Wan, and he feels conflicted in the Force, but his eyes are warm.</p><p>“Yes. I guess it did,” Jango says.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>someone loses a leg (it's not super gorey or explicit but i think it's pretty visual) and there are like one hundred words of explicit spiciness in the last third of the fic</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Republic shuttle looks strange next to Jango’s old Firespray. There are branches caught in the joints of its fins, and the surface of its curved hull is thick with something that looks like bird shit and stinks to hell and back. One of the spaceport’s employees is trying to scrape it off without success. They’ve been at it for at least half an hour, and both Kenobi and his padawan have told them to leave it, but apparently the Ugnaught has decided it’s personal.</p><p>Kenobi approaches Jango, his steps soft over the cracked tarmac, and snorts quietly. He points to his ship.</p><p>“I’m sure one could see that,” Kenobi mutters, his voice dripping with humour, “as a kind of—symbolic representation of something.”</p><p>Jango eyes him. He crosses his arms.</p><p>“Or just as an old, dikut’la Ugnaught losing a fight against a metric ton of shit,” he replies, droll, and Kenobi huffs a laugh. He tries to hide it, but Jango caught him by surprise.</p><p>Kenobi looks good. He’s showered and fixed his short beard and cut his hair, and he’s wearing a sand-colored tunic and pale slacks instead of the clothes Jango’s gotten used to seeing him in for the past few weeks. His sword hangs from his belt, and he looks—he looks comfortable in his own skin. He looks good.</p><p>Jango looks away.</p><p>Kenobi seems to sense his change of mood because he sighs. He was almost leaning against Jango, his shoulder brushing his—he steps away.</p><p>It isn’t obvious—he crosses his arms, and uses the motion to put some space between them, but Jango was playing that game when Kenobi was his apprentice’s age. Something sours in Jango’s stomach.</p><p>Both of them knew this was going to happen, that whatever it is they’ve had for the past few days had a deadline even before the possibility of it ever coming into being ever existed. They’ve been dancing around each other, coming together and stepping away, crashing into beds and falling apart. They haven’t spoken about it—Jango doubts they ever will.</p><p>A day ago, they could hide behind the fact that they had nothing else to do: their enemies were dead, the way out of Tchuta-1 was clear, their respective families were safe, but their ships needed refueling and refitting, and they needed rest. But now the interlude is over. Their ships are fixed, and soon enough Kenobi and his apprentice will leave for Coruscant and they won’t see each other ever again.</p><p>Jango looks away from the shuttle. As always, his eyes immediately find Boba. He’s sitting between Eul’alia and Skywalker, listening very closely to what the latter’s telling him, his curly head resting on the Twi’lek’s arm. The woman will be leaving with the Jedi, to Coruscant and beyond: she has her eyes fixed on her datapad, a frown on her face, but her left lek is curled around Boba’s shoulders, the tip right under his chin.</p><p>Jango knows that Boba will miss her, that he will miss Skywalker too. His son is more sociable than him: Boba <em>likes </em>people—he needs other people more than Jango has ever needed them. He’s lonely in Kamino.</p><p>It’s for his own good: the eyayade aren’t children. But Boba’s five, and he doesn’t yet know what that means.</p><p>The fuel line detaches from the shuttle with a clanking sound, and the smell of fuel fills the area. Kenobi scrunches up his nose, but he doesn’t move. Jango looks at him from the corner of his eye: the Jedi appears to be lost in thought, his mind very far away. He’s stroking his chin, arms still crossed and his back very straight.</p><p>He’s been quiet lately—quiet for him, at least. Lost in thought, a deep furrow on his forehead. There are many things he still doesn’t know, he told Jango, many questions that still lack an answer. Jango has been trying not to think about how many of those questions have to do with him and with Boba, because if he does, he’ll have to deal with it—and he’s found he doesn’t want to. He fingers Kenobi’s gun, still holstered at his left hip, and doesn’t look away.</p><p>He should return it before they part ways forever—he already knows he won’t.</p><p>Kenobi must sense Jango looking at him, because he blinks and turns to watch him. He notices the fuel line, and he sighs.</p><p>He turns back to Jango, and smiles, small and sad and almost—almost vulnerable, suddenly very young.</p><p>“I guess it’s time for us to leave,” Kenobi says. He doesn’t move, however, and he doesn’t turn to look at his apprentice. He keeps his eyes on Jango. Jango feels his hands twitch, and wishes he was wearing his buy’ce. But no—Boba has it on his lap, his small hands resting on the beskar. “Yes,” Jango finally replies. His voice sounds strange. He looks at Kenobi, and the Jedi looks back at him, his blue-grey eyes unreadable, still smiling.</p><p>“I’d say it has been nice meeting you,” Kenobi says, his voice low, “but both of us would know I’m lying.”</p><p>Jango snorts. He looks away, and tries to keep the smile from his face.</p><p>“Could have been worse,” he tells Kenobi. He looks back at him, and finds himself trying to commit the Jedi’s face to memory, the way he watches Jango, the curl of his mouth and the warmth in his eyes . Kenobi huffs, looks away. He uncrosses his arms and then hides his hands inside the wide sleeves of his tunic.</p><p>“We could still be back in the mines, I guess,” he concedes. “We could be dead.”</p><p>Jango nods. He falls quiet, and looks away, to his son and Skywalker. He thinks the teenager’s telling Boba something about the Firespray: he actually looks engaged in what he’s saying for once. Boba listens carefully, his eyes very wide.</p><p>Jango closes his eyes for an instant, and then he turns to look at Kenobi. He finds he’d like to touch him, one last time. A hand on the back of his neck, on the thin, pale skin on the inside of his wrist, on the rough brown cloth over his ribs. He doesn’t.</p><p>“I hope I never see you again,” he tells him. Kenobi tilts his head. He watches Jango in silence for a few seconds, still smiling. Finally, he sighs. He reaches carefully with one hand, brushes his fingers against Jango’s.</p><p>“I know,” he replies. He’s looking at Jango, he’s touching him, but suddenly he feels very far away. The smile fades away. “But you will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>and we're done!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i can't believe this lol. it feels so fucking weird. this has been so much work and such a great experience at the same time. thank you so much for reading and leaving comments and bookmarking my stupid little spaghetti western au fanfiction. every time one of you told me that this fic's updates had made their day or something like that it made MY day. i was half-sure no one would read this (i mean, kenfetti isn't that big yet even if it's getting bigger, and i this fic's... everything is pretty niche), so the fact that so many people have has been a lot.</p><p>there is a fic <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1k7no8o8wOsrrVBkAtnGJF?si=4Z5stBrvREuOskJh88cvow">playlist</a> on spotify. i'm leaving here the link in case you'd like to poke around and listen to it (it's meant to be listened to in order AND it contains spoilers, kinda, and that's why i've waited to share. and yes it has been awful, i hate waiting).</p><p>i'm also jasondont on tumblr. i don't have a sequel planned for this (as far as i'm concerned, that sequel already exists and is called attack of the clones. it's a pretty famous movie, you might have heard about it). HOWEVER i will very probably write a couple of drabbles or spin-offs or whatever, because this AU lives in my rent free. so if you'd like to see something specific or whatever feel free to drop me an ask.</p><p>and again: thanks a lot to my friends. they know who they are. i've been so fucking annoying about this, you have no idea. i wouldn't have been able to finish writing this without their help, both direct and indirect. ilu.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>it IS thursday where i live </p><p>i'm jasondont on tumblr, come say hi!! </p><p>and see you on monday :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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